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THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 


THE    FIRESIDE 
SPHINX 


BY 


AGNES   REPPLIER 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  E.  BONSALL 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIX  AND  COMPANY 

Oilicrsibc  press,  Camfaribge 

1901 


COPYRIGHT,    1901,    BY    AGNES   REPPLIER 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


Published  October,  igoi 


IN    MEMORY   OF 
AGRIPPINA 


•  Les  amour  en  x  fervent s  ct  Ics  savants  ansftres 
Aiment  dgalement,  dans  leur  mure  saison, 
Les  chats  ptiissants  ct  donx,  orgueil  de  la  maison, 
Out  commc  CH.V  sont  frileux,  et  comme  eux,  sMentaires." 

CHARLES  BAUDELAIRE. 


FOREWORD 

THERE  is  a  sweet  and  sunny  corner  of  the  Ely- 
sian  fields,  where  drowse  and  play,  and  drowse  and 
play  forever,  a  little  band  of  cats,  whose  names,  im 
perishable  as  their  masters',  are  household  words 
to-day.  We  know  them  well,  these  gentle  furry 
ghosts,  lifted  to  immortality  by  the  human  hands 
that  fondled  them  in  life.  We  know  the  white 
Muezza  whom  Mohammed  loved,  and  Bouhaki  of 
Thebes,  proudest  of  his  proud  race,  and  Dick 
Whittington's  thrice  famous  cat  that  made  his 
master's  fortune.  We  know  this  sleek  and  shining 
tortoise-shell,  for  she  is  Selima,  fair  and  ill-fated, 
whom  the  glint  of  gold-fish  tempted  to  her  grave. 
This  pensive  pussy  with  clear  topaz  eyes  shared 
Petrarch  's  heart  with  Laura ;  this  splendid  beast, 
red  as  a  fox  and  stately  as  a  lion,  is  Chateaubriand  's 
Micetto,  the  sovereign  Pontiff 's  gift ;  and  his  no 
less  arrogant  companion  sat,  it  is  whispered,  by  the 
side  of  Wolsey,  when  the  butcher's  son  was  Chan 
cellor  of  England. 

Montaigne's  grey  cat  is  here,  indolently  super 
cilious  as  in  old  earthly  days  ;  and  Victor  Hugo's 


x  FOREWORD 

Chanoine,  the  sleepiest  puss  in  Paradise ;  and 
Baudelaire's  mysterious  pet,  with  pale  fire  gleaming 
'neath  his  half-shut  lids  ;  and  Moumoutte  Blanche 
and  Moumoutte  Chinoise,  rivals  for  M.  Loti's 
fluctuating  affections,  and  the  superb  dynasties, 
both  white  and  black,  that  ruled  for  years  over 
M.  Gautier's  heart  and  home.  Here,  too,  is  "  great 
Atossa,"  sung  into  fame  by  Mr.  Arnold;  and  that 
sedate  and  serious  tabby  who  slept  too  long  in 
Cowper's  bureau  drawer.  And  —  honoured  of  all 
their  race  —  here  are  two  happy  and  distinguished 
cats  whom  we  cannot  remember  without  envy,  nor 
name  without  respect, — Dr.  Johnson's  Hodge, 
and  Hinse  of  Hinsefeld,  the  wise  companion  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott. 

Into  this  august  assembly,  into  this  sacred  circle, 
I  fain  in  moments  of  temerity  would  introduce  a 
little  shade  who  stole  too  soon  from  the  warm  sun, 
and  from  the  simple  joys  of  life.  She  was  dearly 
loved  and  early  lost,  and  the  scanty  honours  years 
of  toil  have  brought  me  I  lay  at  her  soft  feet  for 
entrance  fee.  May  Hodge  and  Hinse  champion 
her  cause  with  the  Immortals  for  the  sake  of  the 
unfaltering  love  I  have  ever  borne  their  masters, 
and  may  her  grace  and  beauty  win  for  her  what  my 
poor  pen  is  powerless  to  attain  !  Dear  little  ghost, 
whose  memory  has  never  faded  from  my  heart, 
accept  this  book,  dedicated  to  thee,  and  to  all  thy 


FOREWORD  xi 

cherished  race.  Sleep  sweetly  in  the  fields  of 
asphodel,  and  waken,  as  of  old,  to  stretch  thy 
languid  length,  and  purr  thy  soft  contentment  to 
the  skies.  I  only  beg,  as  one  before  me  begged  of 
her  dead  darling,  that,  midst  the  joys  of  Elysium,  I 
may  not  be  wholly  forgotten. 


"  Nor,  though  Persephone  's  own  Puss  you  be, 
Let  Orcus  breed  oblivion  of  me." 


A.  R. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  i 

II.  THE  DARK  AGES 20 

III.  PERSECUTION 52 

IV.  RENAISSANCE 67 

V.  THE  CAT  OF  ALBION 82 

VI.  THE  CAT  IN  ART 104 

VII.  THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT 126 

VIII.  SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE        .        .        .        .  179 

IX.  THE  CAT  TO-DAY  228 


THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 


"  Thine  is  the  lore  of  Ra  and  Rameses." 

THERE  was  —  if  we  may  trust  the  Arabic 
chronicles  as  set  down  by  that  devout 
scholar,  Damirei  —  no  cat  in  the  Garden 
of  Paradise.  Lion  cubs  and  tiger  cubs,  little  leo 
pards  and  little  panthers,  Eve  had  in  numbers  with 
out  doubt  ;  but  no  pussy  to  grace  and  decorate  her 
domestic  hearth.  How  far  this  loss  was  responsible 
for  the  lamentable  ennui  which,  Charles  Lamb  says, 
forced  our  first  parents  to  sin  themselves  out  of 
Eden,  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine  ;  but  in 
that  desolate  world  of  toil  which  lay  beyond  the 
gleaming  gates  and  sacred  rivers  of  Paradise,  no  cat 
was  found  to  comfort  the  sad  exiles  on  their  way. 
She  sprang  into  existence  at  the  Deluge ;  for  dur 
ing  the  long  weeks  in  which  the  Ark  floated  over 
the  waste  of  waters,  the  rats  and  the  mice  increased 


2  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

so  alarmingly  that  the  comfort  —  if  there  was  any 
comfort  —  of  the  inmates  was  threatened  with  de 
struction.  Then  Noah,  equal  to  the  emergency, 
passed  his  hand  three  times  over  the  head  of  the 
lioness,  and  lo  !  she  sneezed  forth  the  cat. 

In  connection  with  this  venerable  legend,  it  is 
interesting  to  note  the  behaviour  of  Puss  in  the  old 
Italian  pictures  which  represent  the  departure  from 
the  Ark,  a  subject  which  Bassano  has  painted  over 
and  over  again.  Invariably  we  see,  walking  at  the 
head  of  the  procession,  with  a  most  self-satisfied 
and  arrogant  air,  as  if  she  owned  the  newly  recov 
ered  earth,  a  large  brindled  cat.  The  lion  and  the 
elephant,  the  camel  and  the  horse,  all  the  most 
terrible  and  the  most  useful  beasts  linger  with  mod 
est  diffidence  in  the  background  ;  the  cat  presents 
herself  superbly  to  everybody's  notice,  and,  as  a 
rule,  begins  her  career  of  depredation  by  assailing 
one  of  her  late  companions,  —  a  fat  frightened  rab 
bit,  or  a  trembling  dove.  No  one  would  imagine 
that  she  owed  her  existence  to  the  incidental  dis 
comforts  of  the  Ark. 

However  mysterious  and  informal  may  have  been 
her  birth,  Pussy's  first  appearance  in  veracious  his 
tory  is  a  splendid  one.  More  than  three  thou 
sand  years  ago  she  dwelt  serenely  by  the  Nile,  and 
the  great  nation  of  antiquity  paid  her  respectful 
homage.  Sleek  and  beautiful,  she  drowsed  in  the 


THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  3 

shadow  of  mighty  temples,  or  sat  blinking  and 
washing  her  face  with  contemptuous  disregard  alike 
of  priest  and  people.  There  is  no  mention  of  her 
in  Holy  Writ  ;  but  when  Moses  led  the  Children 
of  Israel  into  the  desert,  she  watched  him  go, 

"  With  sombre  sea-green  gaze  inscrutable." 

Deserts,  indeed,  offered  scant  allurement  to  her. 
No  wandering  people  have  ever  enjoyed  her  sweet 
companionship.  The  Arabs  loved  and  valued  her ; 
but  could  do  no  more  than  carry  her  across  the 
trackless  sands  for  the  enrichment  of  softer  homes 
than  their  black  tents  could  offer. 

"  And  the  bubbling  camels  beside  the  load 
Sprawled  for  a  furlong  adown  the  road  ; 
And  the  Persian  pussy-cats,  brought  for  sale, 
Spat  at  the  dogs  from  the  camel-bale." 

Poor  faithful  dogs,  lovers  of  novelty  and  change 
of  scene,  who  dwell  contentedly  in  tents,  or  huts, 
or  'neath  the  open  sky,  and  roam  far  and  wide  with 
the  masters  whom  they  serve.  The  cat  cares  little 
to  see  the  world,  and  dislikes  the  discomforts  of 
travel.  Some  gracious  instinct  binds  her  to  her 
home.  She  feels  the  charm  of  the  familiar,  and  her 
fidelity  to  the  sheltering  hearth  has  made  her  — 
now  that  her  old  honours  have  passed  away  —  the 
little  god  of  domesticity,  the  friend  of  those  who 
are  too  happy  or  too  wise  for  restlessness. 


4  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Egypt,  as  the  granary  of  the  ancient  world,  had 
especial  need  for  Pussy's  services,  and  the  Egyptian 
cat  was  a  mighty  hunter,  not  only  of  rats  and  mice, 
—  ancestral  prey,  —  but  of  wild  fowl  caught  in  reedy 
marshes,  and  in  shallow  waters  where  she  could 
swim  with  ease.  Her  sacred  character  was  in  no 
wise  impaired  by  her  usefulness.  She  was  the 
favourite  of  Pasht,  who,  in  smiling  mood,  had  given 
her  to  the  world  ;  and  the  deep  veneration  in  which 
she  was  held  provoked  biting  jests  from  travellers, 
who  then,  as  now,  lacked  sympathy  for  strange 
customs  and  strange  gods.  Herodotus  was  plainly 
of  the  opinion  that  the  devotion  manifested  for 
these  cherished  beasts  produced  some  uncomfort 
able  results.  In  the  first  place,  there  were  too 
many  cats.  The  maintenance  of  those  who  lived 
apart  in  temples,  and  who  were  fed  with  fish,  and 
bread  soaked  in  milk,  was  a  heavy  burden  upon  the 
state  ;  and  the  officials,  whose  privilege  it  was  to 
take  care  of  them,  seem  to  have  been  naturally,  but 
unendurably,  proud.  Then  again,  the  enforced 
mourning,  the  shaving  of  eyebrows,  and  all  the 
"mockery  of  woe"  which  followed  the  death  of 
even  the  smallest  kitten,  lent  a  funereal  aspect  to 
many  homes.  Last,  but  not  least,  the  law  which 
forbade  the  sinful  slaying  of  a  cat  occasionally 
brought  vengeance  upon  the  head  of  the  unfortu 
nate  who  unwittingly  killed  one.  For  such  an  evil 


THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  5 

accident,  says  Diodorus  of  Sicily,  a  Roman  citizen 
was  torn  to  pieces  by  the  infuriated  populace  of 
Thebes.  So  imminent,  indeed,  was  this  peril,  that 
an  Egyptian  who  chanced  to  witness  Pussy's  death, 
—  happily  no  common  occurrence,  as  a  cat,  like  an 
Englishman,  considers  dying  a  strictly  private  affair, 
—  stood  trembling  and  bathed  in  tears,  plaintively 
announcing  to  the  world  that  he  at  least  had  no  part 
in  such  a  pitiful  calamity.  Yet  even  a  tender  and 
far-reaching  solicitude  could  not  always  save  the 
Egyptian  cat  from  harm.  Fires  were  of  frequent 
occurrence,  and  the  creature's  terror  occasionally 
prevented  its  rescue,  and  drove  it  straight  into  the 
flames.  "  When  this  happens,  it  diffuses  universal 
sorrow,"  says  Herodotus,  with  that  graceful  sym 
pathy  which  is  so  pleasing,  because  so  rare,  in  the 
historian. 

Writers  of  a  later  date  were  far  less  tolerant  of 
feline  dignities.  Timocles  observes  cynically  that 
when  irreverence  to  the  great  gods  so  often  escapes 
unpunished,  he  can  hardly  fear  to  violate  the  shrine 
of  a  cat.  Anaxandrides  of  Rhodes  presents  with 
fine  brutality  the  Greek  point  of  view,  in  his  comedy, 
"The  Cities."  "If  you  see  a  cat  indisposed," 
sneers  one  of  the  characters  to  an  Egyptian,  "  you 
weep  for  it.  For  my  part,  I  am  well  pleased  to  kill 
it  for  its  skin." 

The  exact  era  of  Pussy's  domestication  in  Egypt 


6  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

is  lost  in  the  dawn  of  history.  It  was  so  very  long 
ago  that  our  minds  grow  dizzy,  contemplating  the 
vast  stretch  of  centuries.  A  tablet  in  the  Berlin 
Museum,  which  has  on  it  a  representation  of  a  cat, 
dates  from  1600  B.  c.  :  and  another,  two  hundred 
years  older,  bears  an  inscription  containing  the 
word  Mau,  or  cat.  The  temples  of  Bubastis,  of 
Beni  Hasan,  and  of  Heliopolus  were  the  most 
sacred  haunts  of  this  most  sacred  animal.  There, 
petted,  pampered,  wrapped  in  silken  ease,  and,  above 
all,  treated  with  that  delicate  reverence  she  is  so 
quick  to  understand  and  appreciate,  she  lived  her 
allotted  lives  ;  and  there,  when  all  nine  were  well 
spent,  her  little  corpse  was  lovingly  embalmed,  and 
buried  in  a  gilded  mummy  case  with  dignified  and 
appropriate  ceremonial.  Her 

"  splendid  circled  eyes 
That  wax  and  wane  with  love  for  hours, 
Green  as  green  flame,  blue-grey  like  skies," 

were  believed  to  be  emblematic  of  the  waxing  and 
the  waning  of  the  sun,  and  added  to  the  mysterious 
sanctity  of  her  reputation. 

Plutarch  held  that  she  also  represented  the 
moon,  because  of  her  nocturnal  habits,  and  of  her 
singular  fecundity.  "  For  it  is  said  that  she  brings 
forth  at  first  one  kitten,  afterwards  two,  and  the 
third  time,  three  ;  and  that  the  number  increaseth 
thus  until  the  seventh  and  last  birth,  so  that  she 


THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  7 

"^  / 

bears  in  all  twenty-eight  young,  or  as  many  as  the 
moon  hath  revolutions.  And  though  this  may  be 
but  a  fable,  yet  it  is  certain  that  her  eyes  do  enlarge 
and  grow  brilliant  with  the  filling  of  the  moon,  and 
do  contract  and  lose  their  light  with  its  decline." 

What  a  pleasure  it  must  have  been  to  study  nat 
ural  history  in  the  ancient  days,  when  the  general 
absence  of  information  left  the  historian  liberty  and 
leisure  to  tell  really  interesting  things. 

The  temple  of  Bubastis,  says  Herodotus,  was  the 
fairest  in  all  Kgypt,  and  the  festival  held  in  honour 
of  the  goddess  was  the  gayest  of  the  year,  thousands 
of  pilgrims  speeding  along  the  pleasant  water-ways 
to  enjoy  themselves  piously  at  her  shrine.  Often 
they  carried  with  them  the  mummies  of  dear  dead 
cats,  to  be  interred  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
temple ;  and  often  they  bore,  as  offerings  to  the 
shrine,  animals  of  great  size  and  beauty,  or  with 
especial  markings  that  denoted  sanctity,  and  insured 
their  admittance  into  the  circle  of  the  elect.  To 
these  pilgrimages,  and  to  the  sacredness  of  the 
temple  cats,  may  be  traced  —  so  says  Ignace  Gold- 
ziher  in  his  "  Culte  des  Saints  chez  les  Musulmans  " 
—  a  curious  custom  which  survived  until  recent 
years  among  Egyptian  Moslems.  When  the  cara 
vans  bound  for  Mecca  were  preparing  to  start  from 
Cairo,  and  the  city  was  celebrating  their  departure 
with  the  feasts  of  Mahmal,  one  camel  was  set  apart 


8  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

for  the  sole  use  of  an  old  woman  who  bore  the 
honourable  title,  Mother  of  Cats,  and  whose  duty  it 
was  to  carry  to  the  Holy  City  a  number  of  Persian 
pussies.  Her  position  was  no  sinecure,  for  all  the 
distinction  it  conferred,  the  cat's  rooted  aversion  to 
travel  rendering  it  a  troublesome  charge ;  and  the 
venerable  "  Mother  "  finally  gave  place  to  a  young 
and  active  man,  better  able  to  cope  with  his  sackful 
of  turbulent  prisoners.  What  strange  survival  of 
an  ancient  practice  induced  pious  Moslems  to  send 
to  the  Prophet's  shrine  the  animals  that  their  far 
away  ancestors  had  carried  devoutly  to  the  temple 
of  Bubastis  ?  No  one  knows.  The  links  between 
old  and  new  have  long  ago  been  broken  ;  and,  as  so 
often  happens,  the  custom  lingered  on  for  countless 
years  after  its  significance  had  been  lost  to  men's 
unreasoning  minds. 

The  great  burying-grounds  of  favoured  Egyptian 
cats  were  the  thrice  blessed  fields  of  Specs  Artemi- 
dos  near  the  tombs  of  Beni  Hasan,  where  thousands 
of  little  mummies  reposed  for  centuries.  It  was  re 
served  for  our  rude  age  to  disturb  their  slumber,  to 
desecrate  their  graves,  to  fling  their  ashes  to  the 
four  winds  of  heaven,  or,  with  base  utilitarianism, 
to  sell  the  poor  little  swathed  and  withered  bodies 
—  once  so  beautiful  and  gently  tended  —  for  any 
trifling  sum  they  would  bring  from  ribald  tourists 
who  infest  the  land.  Many  were  even  used  as  fer- 


THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  9 

tilizers  of  the  ancient  soil,  —  a  more  honourable  fate, 
and  one  which  consigned  them  gently  to  oblivion. 
The  incredible  number  of  such  mummies  found  at 
Beni  Hasan  and  other  sacred  cemeteries  proves 
that  Egypt,  "in  the  hour  of  her  pride,"  was  the 
abode  of  countless  pussy-cats,  and  explains  the  sar 
casm  of  that  travelled  Greek,  who  observed  that, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  it  was  more  common  to 
meet  gods  than  men. 

Once  outside  of  Egypt,  where,  thanks  to  inscrip 
tions,  embalming,  and  an  admirable  pictorial  art,  we 
know  with  exactness  what  we  know  at  all,  the  his 
tory  of  the  cat  is  shrouded  in  mystery  and  gloom. 
There  is  no  proof  that  she  was  domesticated  in 
Babylon  or  Assyria ;  and  what  scanty  information 
we  can  gather  as  the  centuries  roll  on  is  of  a  dis- 
hearteningly  fabulous  character.  There  is  a  story 
which  used  to  be  found  in  the  school-books  of  our 
youth,  but  which  has  probably  been  eliminated  in 
these  duller  days,  of  the  infamous  scheme  devised 
by  Cambyses  —  and  worthy  of  him  —  for  the  cap 
ture  of  Pelusium.  Each  Persian  soldier  was  bidden 
to  carry  in  his  arms  a  cat,  so  that  he  was  safe  from 
the  weapons  of  the  Egyptians,  who  feared  to  wound 
the  sacred  animal  he  bore.  The  tale,  it  must  be 
admitted,  docs  not  sound  veracious.  To  march  to 
battle  carrying  a  cat  —  a  cat  that  must  have  been 
eminently  unwilling  to  go  —  would  have  required 


io  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

more  courage  than  to  face  an  enemy.  Moreover, 
the  Persians  could  hardly  have  done  their  own  share 
of  fighting  very  effectively  while  they  were  clasping 
legions  of  pussies  to  their  bosoms.  Perhaps  the 
ruthless  disregard  evinced  by  Cambyses  for  all  his 
fellow-men  held  dear  and  sacred  may  have  given 
rise  to  this  once  popular  tradition. 

There  are  others  less  well  known,  but  much  pret 
tier,  as  that  of  the  Persian  monarch,  Hormus,  who, 
finding  his  kingdom  invaded  by  a  mighty  army 
under  Prince  Schabe,  his  own  unworthy  relative, 
was  warned  by  a  soothsayer  that  he  could  never 
conquer  this  enemy  until  his  troops  were  led  to 
battle  by  a  general  having  the  face  of  a  wild  cat,  — 
"qui  cut  la  physionomie  d'un  chat  sauvage,"  says 
Moncrif,  who  tells  the  story  with  delight.  After 
searching  far  and  wide,  Hormus  at  last  discovered 
this  treasure  in  the  person  of  a  rude  mountaineer 
named  Baharan,  or,  as  some  say,  Kounin,  to  whom 
he  joyfully  gave  the  command  of  all  his  forces.  The 
result  justified  the  prediction.  The  Persians,  though 
few  and  ill-trained,  were  yet  so  animated  by  the 
assurance  of  victory,  so  exultant  when  they  beheld 
the  fear-inspiring  countenance  of  their  leader,  that 
they  easily  routed  the  foe,  and  carried  Schabe's 
head  back  to  their  royal  master. 

In  India  the  house  cat  was  known  from  a  very 
early  period,  and  was  called  by  several  composite 


THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  n 

names  signifying  rat-eater  and  mouse-enemy,  to  de 
note  the  useful  character  of  her  occupations.  She 
figures  also  in  some  of  the  oldest  Indian  fables, 
always  as  an  arrant  hypocrite,  fair-spoken  and  full  of 
guile.  Her  first  entrance  into  the  Chinese  Empire 
appears  to  have  been  about  400  A.  i>.,  and  she  is 
described  in  ancient  documents  as  a  hunter  of  mice 
and  slayer  of  hens,  unmistakable  characteristics, 
both  of  them.  There  is  also  a  venerable  proverb 
which  says,  with  true  Chinese  sententiousness,  that 
a  lame  cat  is  better  than  a  swift  horse  when  rats 
infest  the  palace.  The  rampant  creature  that  rears 
itself  aggressively  on  the  royal  banners  of  Korea  is 
some  fierce  wild  cousin  of  the  cat ;  just  as  the  ani 
mal  held  sacred  for  centuries  along  the  Pacific 
coast  of  South  America,  and  which  we  see  over  and 
over  again  in  the  terra  cottas  of  lost  Peruvian  cities, 
was  forest  born  and  bred, — ocelot  perhaps,  or  jag 
uar,  —  not  the  sweet  domestic  deity  of  the  Nile. 

The  saddest  gap  in  the  chronicles  of  the  cat  is 
her  conspicuous  absence  from  "  the  glory  that  was 
Greece,"  from  "the  grandeur  that  was  Rome,"  — 
an  absence  which  extended  over  many  hundreds  of 
years.  No  Greek  monument  shows  her  sitting  at 
her  master's  feet,  as  the  Egyptian  Eouhaki  sat  for 
centuries  at  the  feet  of  King  Hana,  in  the  Necrop 
olis  of  Thebes.  Homer,  who  tells  us  the  touching 
story  of  the  hound,  Argus,  has  never  a  word  for 


12  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

the  cat ;  though  we  would  give  much  to  see  her 
watching  with  wise  eyes  Penelope's  unfinished  web, 
or  playing  with  the  soft  tangled  wools  in  Helen's 
silver  work-basket.  And  what  fitter  companion  for 
Nausicaa  than  a  white  cat,  beautiful,  spotless  and 
urbane  ?  M.  Henri  Havard  argues  subtly  that  the 
very  essence  of  Greek  civilization,  as  it  slowly  flow 
ered  to  perfection,  was  fatal  to  the  domestication 
of  the  cat.  "  What  place  could  she  fill,"  he  asks, 
"  amid  this  restless  glory  ?  What  hold  could  she 
hope  to  gain  over  a  people  enamoured  of  art,  of 
language,  of  eloquence  ;  over  men  who  were  at  once 
actors,  athletes  and  poets  ;  and  who  —  alternating 
perpetually  between  physical  and  mental  activity  — 
had  elevated  beauty  of  form  to  the  height  of  a  great 
moral  principle.  This  race  so  admirably  endowed, 
with  ambitions  ever  unsatisfied,  modelling,  in  insa 
tiable  pride,  its  gods  after  its  own  likeness,  and  for 
cing  Olympos  to  bear  a  part  in  its  quarrels  ;  —  this 
superb  race  was  far  too  arrogant  to  permit  the  cat 
to  participate  in  its  apotheosis.  Therefore  the  pru 
dent  animal  avoided  a  society  unable  to  appreciate 
or  to  understand  her.  What  she  required  was  a 
people,  gentle,  submissive,  prompt  to  obey,  and  ac 
customed,  as  were  the  Egyptians,  to  the  inexorable 
demands  of  tyranny." 

It  is  always  painful  to  disagree  with  M.  Havard  ; 
but  he  forgets  that  the  cat,  although  she  doubtless 


THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  13 

prefers  being  worshipped  as  a  divinity,  has  yet  con 
sented  to  live  with  many  nations  on  easier  terms  ; 
that,  notwithstanding  her  gentle  imperiousness,  she 
is,  as  a  rule,  willing  to  accord  to  humanity  the  free 
dom  she  demands  for  herself ;  and  that  the  beauty 
of  well-ordered  life  —  as  that  fair  life  of  Athens  — 
has  ever  appealed  to  her  exquisite  sense  of  smooth 
ness  and  moderation.  Sparta,  with  its  rigorous 
study  of  discomforts,  might  have  repelled  her  sadly  ; 
but  in  Athens  every  instinct  of  her  little  heart 
would  have  been  sweetly  satisfied.  It  was  her 
home  of  homes,  and  the  unkind  fates  barred  her 
way. 

When  at  last  the  cat  entered  Greece,  the  glory  of 
Greece  had  waned.  Artemis  remembered  that,  in 
Egypt,  Pussy  had  vaguely  symbolized  both  moon 
and  sun,  and  took  the  small  night-roaming  creature 
—  furry  as  her  old  Arcadian  emblem,  the  bear,  — 
under  her  protection ;  but  Artemis  was  no  longer 
the  goddess  "excellently  bright."  Her  lustre  was 
dimming  fast ;  and  the  old  myth,  imported  hazily 
from  the  East,  which  represented  the  cat  moon 
devouring  the  grey  mice  of  twilight,  had  faded  from 
the  minds  of  men.  As  a  plaything,  as  a  pretty 
household  toy,  Pussy  was  carried  from  Africa  to 
Europe  a  few  hundred  years  before  the  Christian 
era.  Diodorus  tells  a  strange  story  of  a  mountain 
in  Numidia  which  was  inhabited  by  a  common" 


i4  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

wealth  of  cats,  so  that  no  bird  ever  ventured  to  nest 
in  its  woods  ;  and  from  this  mysterious  region,  it 
was  said,  adventurous  hunters  carried  away  a  few 
little  captives  to  be  enslaved  by  decadent  Greece. 
A  more  probable  and  a  more  romantic  tale  has  been 
adapted  from  the  Greek  by  that  graceful  versifier, 
and  true  lover  of  cats,  Graham  Tomson.  It  gives  a 
motive,  at  once  cogent  and  reasonable,  for  the  im 
portation  of  Pasht's  pussies. 

"  Arsinoe  the  fair,  the  amber- tressed, 

Is  mine  no  more  ; 
Cold  as  the  unsunned  snows  are  is  her  breast, 

And  closed  her  door. 
No  more  her  ivory  feet  and  tresses  braided 

Make  glad  mine  eyes  ; 
Snapt  are  my  viol  strings,  my  flowers  are  faded, 

My  love-lamp  dies. 

"  Yet,  once,  for  dewy  myrtle-buds  and  roses, 

All  summer  long, 
We  searched  the  twilight-haunted  garden  closes 

With  jest  and  song. 
Ay,  all  is  over  now,  —  my  heart  hath  changed 

Its  heaven  for  hell ; 
And  that  ill  chance  which  all  our  love  estranged 

In  this  wise  fell  : 

"A  little  lion,  small  and  dainty  sweet, 

(For  such  there  be  !) 
With  sea-grey  eyes  and  softly  stepping  feet, 

She  prayed  of  me. 
For  this,  through  lands  Egyptian  far  away, 

She  bade  me  pass  : 


THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  15 

But,  in  an  evil  hour,  I  said  her  nay ; 

And  now,  alas  ! 
Far-travelled  Nicias  hath  wooed  and  won 

Arsinoe, 
With  gifts  of  furry  creatures,  white  and  dun, 

From  over  sea." 

It  is  a  melancholy  truth  that  after  the  "  little  lion  " 
had  been  domesticated  in  Greece,  we  hear  nothing 
to  her  credit.  Theocritus  flouts  her  with  a  careless 
word, 

"  Cats  love  to  sleep  softly  ;  " 

and  decadent  poets,  in  place  of  singing  her  beauty 
and  her  grace,  as  Homer  sang  of  Helen  on  the 
battlements  of  Troy,  grow  ethical  and  positively 
evangelical  over  her  too  manifest  shortcomings. 
There  was  a  cat  of  spirit  belonging  to  the  epigram 
matist,  Agathias,  who,  when  the  occasion  offered, 
ate  her  master's  tame  partridge,  for  which  deed  she 
has  been  handed  down  to  posterity  as  an  unnatural 
and  infuriate  monster.  Agathias  solaced  himself 
by  writing  two  poems  on  the  tragedy,  one  of  which 
has  been  very  charmingly  —  if  very  freely  —  trans 
lated  by  Mr.  Richard  Garnett. 

"  O  cat  in  semblance,  but  in  heart  akin 
To  canine  raveners,  whose  ways  are  sin  ; 
Still  at  my  hearth  a  guest  thou  dar'st  to  be  ? 
Unwhipt  of  Justice,  hast  no  dread  of  me  ? 
Or  deem'st  the  sly  allurements  shall  avail 
Of  purring  throat  and  undulating  tail  ? 


16  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

No  !  as  to  pacify  Patroclus  dead, 
Twelve  Trojans  by  Pelides'  sentence  bled, 
So  shall  thy  blood  appease  the  feathery  shade, 
And  for  one  guiltless  life  shall  nine  be  paid." 

Poor  Pussy  !  wasting  thy  soft  purrs  and  delicate 
blandishments  on  the  destroyer.  And,  as  if  the 
wrath  of  Agathias  were  not  enough  to  damn  thee 
forever,  Damocharis,  a  friend  and  disciple,  must 
needs  pour  forth  his  eloquent  denunciations,  liken 
ing  thee  to  one  of  Aktaeon's  hounds  that  tore  its 
master,  —  no  such  guilt  was  thine,  —  and  reproach 
ing  thee  for  long  neglected  duties.  "And  thou, 
base  cat,  thinkest  only  of  partridges,  while  the  mice 
dance  and  play,  regaling  themselves  upon  the  dainty 
food  that  thou  disdainest." 

The  episode  is  worthy  of  Hogarth's  pencil  ;  — 
idleness  leading  the  way,  the  straight,  smooth  way 
to  murder  and  the  gallows.  Alas  !  for  Egypt's 
little  god  in  that  bleak  atmosphere  of  morality. 

Rome  honoured,  if  she  did  not  cherish  the  cat. 
The  conquerors  of  the  world  recognized  and  re 
spected  the  indomitable  love  of  liberty  which  won 
then,  as  it  wins  now,  for  this  small  weak  animal  an 
independence  lost  wholly  and  forever  by  beasts  of 
many  times  her  strength.  The  dog  serves,  the 
horse,  the  camel,  the  elephant  serve,  and  are  slaves 
of  man.  The  cat  has  never  served,  save  briefly  and 
capriciously,  casting  aside  her  allegiance  when  it 


THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  17 

pleased  her  to  do  so,  and  turning  back  to  that  half 
savage  freedom  which  she  held  always  in  reserve. 
Libcrtas  sine  Labors  is,  and  has  ever  been,  her 
motto.  The  cat  of  Agathias  had  wearied  of  civiliza 
tion  and  well-doing  when  she  forsook  her  duties  in 
the  pantry,  and  decided  to  eat  her  master's  bird. 
It  is  true  that  Pliny,  whose  admirable  imagination 
deserts  him  strangely  now  and  then,  leaving  him 
stranded  on  the  driest  of  facts,  sees  in  Pussy  little 
but  her  usefulness.  "  She  keeps  well-filled  barns 
free  from  mice."  He  even  adds  in  the  same  breath 
that  weasels  do  the  work  better.  Palladius  echoes 
this  stupid  sentiment,  but  Romans  of  more  heroic 
mould  valued  more  heroic  traits.  Tiberius  Grac 
chus  placed  an  image  of  the  cat  within  his  Temple 
of  Liberty  ;  and,  if  we  may  trust  that  pleasant  old 
book,  La  Vrayc  ct  Parfaite  Science  dcs  Armoiries, 
published  by  Palliot  in  1664,  more  than  one  Roman 
legion  marched  to  battle  with  Pussy  blazoned  on 
their  banners.  The  Ordines  Angus tci  carried  a 
sea-green  cat,  courant ;  the  Felices  Scniorcs  a  cat, 
rampant,  on  a  buckler  gules  ;  and  the  Alpini  a  cat 
with  one  eye  and  one  ear,  evidently  a  veteran  war 
rior  of  the  wall. 

Coming  late  to  Rome,  and  winning  distinction 
first  as  a  lover  of  liberty,  half  tamed  and  wholly 
brave,  it  was  long  before  Pussy's  sweeter  qualities 
were  duly  exhibited,  or  valued  at  their  worth.  That 


i8  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

she  was  known  in  pleasure-loving  Pompeii  is  proven 
by  the  spirited  mosaics  in  the  Museum  of  Naples, 
one  of  which  represents  her  springing  upon  a  par 
tridge,  like  the  "  base  cat  "  reproached  by  Damo- 
charis.  There  is  something  indefinably  pitiless  in 
the  attitude  of  this  animal,  a  savage  and  ruthless 
energy  in  the  shedding  of  innocent  blood,  which 
seems  ill-calculated  to  soften  the  prejudiced  mind. 
Italy  was  indeed  no  school  of  gentleness.  Cruelty 
had  been  refined  to  a  pleasure,  and  mercy  had  been 
austerely  banished  from  philosophy.  Marcus  Au- 
relius  could  easily  endure  to  sit  for  hours  in  the 
amphitheatre,  bored  and  distrait,  it  is  true,  but  with 
unmoved  serenity.  The  slaughter  of  a  hundred 
lions  afforded  him  no  recreation  ;  but,  as  he  had 
generously  given  the  animals  to  be  killed  for  the 
diversion  of  simpler  souls,  he  found  no  fault  with 
their  enjoyment  of  the  spectacle.  A  creature, 
beautiful  and  weak,  might  well  be  cherished  one 
hour  for  its  beauty,  and  destroyed  the  next  as  a 
penalty  for  its  weakness.  In  "  Marius  the  Epicu 
rean  "  there  is  a  pretty  description  of  a  white  cat 
purring  its  way  gracefully  among  the  wine  cups  at 
a  feast  given  in  honour  of  Apuleius, —  "  coaxed  on 
ward  from  place  to  place  by  those  at  table,  as  they 
reclined  easily  on  their  cushions  of  German  eider 
down,  spread  over  the  long-legged  carved  couches." 
This  dainty  and  somewhat  supercilious  guest  has 
been  brought  to  the  supper  by  a  young  Roman ; 


THE  CAT  OF  ANTIQUITY  19 

and,  surfeited  with  cajolery,  she  sinks  unconcern 
edly  to  sleep,  until  disturbed  by  the  rude  antics  of 
the  young  Commodus. 

"  It  was  then  that  the  host's  son  bethought  him 
of  his  own  favourite  animal,  which  had  offended 
somehow,  and  had  been  forbidden  the  banquet.  — 
'  I  mean  to  shut  you  in  the  oven  a  while,  little  soft, 
white  thing ! '  he  had  said,  catching  sight,  as  he 
passed  an  open  doorway,  of  the  great  fire  in  the 
kitchen,  itself  festally  adorned,  where  the  feast  was 
preparing ;  and  had  so  finally  forgotten  it.  And  it 
was  with  a  really  natural  laugh,  for  once,  that,  on 
opening  the  oven,  he  caught  sight  of  the  animal's 
grotesque  appearance,  as  it  lay  there,  half-burnt, 
just  within  the  red-hot  iron  door." 

That  light,  cruel,  natural  laugh  echoes  through 
the  centuries,  and  follows  the  cat  along  her  pathway 
of  pain.  Mr.  Pater,  fretted  to  pity  by  his  own  tale, 
eliminated  from  later  editions  of  "  Marius "  the 
heart-rending  episode  he  could  so  ill  endure.  Would 
that  it  were  as  easy  to  banish  from  Pussy's  history 
the  gloomy  records  of  sorcery  and  persecution. 


ges 


"  O  gin  my  sons  were  seven  rats 
Runnin'  o'er  the  castle  wa', 
And  gin  that  I  were  a  great  gray  cat, 
Fu'  sune  wad  I  worry  them  a'." 

POPULAR    tradition     was 
wont  to  maintain    that  the 
cat  was  brought    from  the 
East,  and  introduced  into   northern 
Europe  by  the  first    Crusaders.     It 
is  one  of  those  delightful   misstate- 
ments  which  lend  colour  and  charm 
to  history.     Who  would  not  love  to  feel  that  we  owe 
this  pleasant  debt  —  as  we  owe  so  many  others  —  to 
those  splendid  soldiers  who  fought  under  Godfrey 
de   Bouillon,  and  carried  the   Cross  to   Palestine? 
The  Crusaders  brought  back  to  their  rude  and  war 
like  homes  many  of  the  refinements  of  life,  many 
dim  appreciations  of  an  older  civilization,  of  beauty, 
of  learning,  of  subtleties  that  had  no  place  within 
the  stern  barriers  of  Feudalism.     But  they  did  not 


THE  DARK  AGES  21 

bring  back  the  cat.  Long  before  Peter  the  Hermit 
preached  to  the  loyal  sons  of  Christendom,  Pussy 
slept  by  English  firesides,  and  was  held  in  high 
esteem  in  English  nunneries,  alike  for  her  gentle 
ness  and  valour.  A  canon  enacted  in  1127  forbade 
all  nuns,  even  abbesses,  to  wear  any  costlier  skins 
than  those  of  lambs  and  cats;  and  the  "Ancren 
Riwle  "  of  1205  denied  them  possession  of  flocks, 
cattle,  swine,  or  other  domestic  animals,  save  only 
the  cat.  "  Ye,  my  dear  sisters,  shall  have  no  beast 
but  a  cat,"  says  this  excellent  ordinance; — "no 
best  bute  kat  ane,"  is  the  old  Saxon  manuscript. 
"  An  Anchoress  that  hath  herds  seemeth  a  better 
housewife  (as  was  Martha)  than  an  Anchoress,  and 
in  no  wise  may  she  be  Mary  with  peacefulness  of 
heart." 

To  have  sheep  in  the  fold,  cows  in  the  barn, 
mules  in  the  stable,  was  to  sin  against  holy  Poverty, 
—  Our  Lady  Poverty,  mother  of  all  monastic  virtues ; 
but  the  cat  stood  for  no  such  excess  of  indulgence. 
Her  value  was  small,  but  her  services  were  great. 
She  gave  to  convents  chill  and  bare  that  look  of 
home,  that  sweet  suggestion  of  domesticity,  which 
all  women,  even  cloistered  women,  love  ;  she  played 
with  her  kittens  in  the  sun,  affording  a  welcome 
distraction  from  work  and  prayer ;  and  she  held 
herself  ever  in  joyful  readiness  to 

"  Combat  with  the  creeping  Mouse, 
And  scratch  the  screeking  Rat." 


22  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

The  nuns  were  not  so  badly  off  who  were  permitted 
to  keep  a  cat. 

No  one  knows  the  date,  and  no  one  knows  the 
route  of  Pussy's  westward  voyage,  a  voyage  fraught 
with  peril  and  disaster.  From  Cyprus  she  came,  — 
so  say  most  authorities,  —  and  there  is  an  ancient 
tradition  of  a  Christian  monastery  near  Paphos, 
where  the  Greek  monks  kept  a  little  colony  of 
highly  trained  and  valorous  cats,  whose  duty  it  was 
to  destroy  the  serpents  that  infested  the  island. 
These  cats  hunted  their  prey  daily  "  with  admirable 
zeal  and  address,"  -  —  I  quote  from  Moncrif,  —  and  to 
the  great  benefit  of  the  neighbourhood.  But  when 
the  Turks  snatched  Cyprus,  they  burned  the  mon 
astery,  and  turned  the  homeless  pussies,  not  to  speak 
of  the  homeless  monks,  adrift  upon  the  world  ;  — a 
strange  piece  of  ill-doing  for  Moslems,  who,  how 
ever  contemptuous  of  cloisters,  have  always  cher 
ished  cats  with  exceeding  tenderness.  The  love 
which  Mohammed  bore  for  his  fair  white  cat,  Mu- 
ezza,  has  thrown  a  veil  of  sanctity  over  the  whole 
feline  race ;  and  no  good  Ottoman  ever  forgets  that 
when  Muezza  slept  one  day  upon  her  master's  flow 
ing  sleeve,  the  Prophet  —  being  summoned  to  the 
Council  —  cut  off  his  sleeve,  rather  than  disturb 
her  slumber. 

Proud  then,  and  justly  proud,  was  that  true  be 
liever  upon  whom  was  conferred  the  title  —  at  once 
magnificent  and  tender  —  of  "Father  of  Cats." 


THE  DARK  AGES  23 

Great  was  the  solicitude  manifested  throughout  all 
Islam  for  the  welfare  of  these  favoured  animals, 
whose  brooding  reserve  and  wise  impassiveness 
seemed  but  a  reflection  of  the  unchanging  and  un 
communicative  East.  M.  Prisse  d'Avennes  tells  us 
that  the  Moslem  warrior,  El-Daher-Beybars,  "  brave 
as  Caesar  and  cruel  as  Nero,"  had  so  true  an  affec 
tion  for  cats  that  he  bequeathed  a  fertile  garden 
called  Gheyt-el-Ouottah  (the  cat's  orchard)  for  the 
support  of  homeless  and  necessitous  pussies.  This 
garden  lay  close  to  his  own  mosque,  and  but  a 
short  distance  from  Cairo.  With  the  revenue  it 
yielded,  food  was  bought  and  distributed  every 
noon  in  the  outer  court  of  the  Mehkemeh  to  all 
cats  who,  wishing  to  live  in  freedom,  were  yet 
driven  by  hunger  or  neglect  to  accept  the  generous 
alms.  There  is  an  admirable  permanence  about 
Oriental  customs  which  we  of  the  West  —  unstable 
citizens  of  a  protean  world  —  regard  with  envious 
scorn.  Seven  centuries  have  elapsed  since  El- 
Daher-Beybars  atoned  for  the  misdeeds  of  his  fierce 
life  by  gentle  charity.  His  gilded  mosque  has 
crumbled  into  ruins,  the  site  of  his  orchard  is  un 
known,  his  legacy  has  lapsed  into  oblivion.  Yet  as 
late  as  1 870  the  cats  of  Cairo  received  their  daily 
dole,  no  longer  in  memory  of  their  benefactor,  but 
in  unconscious  perpetuation  of  his  bounty. 

"  I  low  far  that  little  candle  throws  his  beams  ! 
So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world." 


24  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

It  is  rather  disconcerting,  when  we  are  dwelling 
so  complacently  upon  the  love  of  the  Moslem  for 
his  cat,  to  remember  that  the  only  bit  of  verse  upon 
the  subject  which  has  floated  down  to  us  from  the 
dim  East  is  not  more  flattering  or  more  kindly  than 
the  epigrams  of  Agathias.  Ibn  Alalaf  Alnaharwany, 
a  poet  of  Bagdad  who  died  about  930,  celebrated  the 
misdeeds  and  the  punishment  of  his  cat  in  a  strain 
of  such  uncompromising  morality  that  we  are  still 
uncertain  as  to  whether  he  meant  what  he  said,  or 
was  referring  in  veiled  language  to  some  tragedy 
of  the  harem.  Alalaf's  pussy  steals  forth  to  rob 
a  dove-cote,  "  fearing  nothing  save  the  loss  of  his 
prey,"  and  is  pierced  by  an  avenging  arrow  ere  he 
can  escape  with  the  bird.  "Alas  !"  muses  the  vir 
tuous  chronicler,  "had  he  but  contented  himself 
with  the  lawful  pursuit  of  mice,  no  such  evil  fate 
had  befallen  him.  Cursed  be  the  refined  taste  which 
led  him  to  seek  a  daintier  quarry,  and  cursed  be  the 
forbidden  joy  which  brings  destruction  in  its  wake." 

To  be  slain  in  the  moment  of  victory  —  even 
though  death  turns  triumph  to  defeat  —  is  not,  in 
Moslem  eyes,  the  worst  of  woes.  The  robber  cat 
of  Bagdad  —  if  he  were  a  cat,  indeed,  and  not  an 
adventurous  lover  —  had  doubtless  enjoyed  many  a 
moonlight  raid  before  retribution  overtook  him ;  and 
this  reflection  should  have  soothed  Alalaf's  soul. 

The  Turk,  although  he  enjoys  scant  reputation 
for  humanity,  has  never  been,  and  is  not  now,  cruel 


THE   DARK  AGES  25 

to  animals.  He  could  teach  that  lesson  of  kindness 
to  every  Christian  nation  in  the  world.  But  his 
benevolence  has  in  it  a  curious  element  of  caprice. 
While  the  Pariah  dog  struggles  from  puppyhood  to 
old  age  for  the  bare  livelihood  yielded  him  by  im 
memorial  usage,  the  cat  is  still,  as  she  has  always 
been,  a  pampered  plaything,  smothered  in  luxury, 
surfeited  with  indulgence.  Who  that  has  ever  seen 
the  cats  of  Stamboul  can  forget  those  beautiful  Per 
sians,  snow-white,  indolent,  amber-eyed,  carried  in 
the  arms  of  Nubian  slave-women,  and  clawing  un 
gratefully  at  their  careful  guardians  !  And  who  that 
has  watched  a  surly  little  Turkish  soldier  soften  and 
brighten  into  smiles  over  the  antics  of  a  litter  of 
kittens,  snugly  domiciled  in  his  sentry-box  where 
surely  kittens  had  no  right  to  be,  can  doubt  the 
love  the  Moslem  bears —  in  imitation  of  the  Prophet 
—  for  Muezza's  furry  kindred  ! 

Travellers  in  the  Orient  have  brought  back  strange 
and  delightful  tales  of  Pussy's  dignities  and  high 
estate.  According  to  these,  probably  fabulous,  but 
always  pleasing  reports,  the  cats  belonging  to  the 
Shah  of  Persia  rival  in  numbers  and  in  beauty  the 
wives  of  King  Solomon.  At  Persian  banquets, 
troops  of  cats,  stately  and  soft-footed,  glide  in  and 
out  among  the  guests  with  silent  courtesy,  offering 
no  disturbance,  but  merely  honouring  with  their 
presence  the  master  of  the  feast.  In  Siam  and 


26  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Burmah  these  thrice  fortunate  animals  are  treated 
with  becoming  deference ;  and  the  Hungarian  scien 
tist,  Vambery,  tells  of  a  Buddhist  convent  in  east 
ern  Thibet,  where  there  were  so  many  pussies,  all 
sleek  and  fat,  that  he  could  not  forbear  asking  the 
pious  inmates  why  they  deemed  it  necessary  to  keep 
such  a  feline  colony.  "  All  things  have  their  uses," 
was  the  serene  reply.  "  Cats  are  carnal-minded, 
clamorous,  and  far  from  cleanly  ;  but  they  atone  for 
their  sins  by  destroying  rats,  mice,  and  weasels,  and 
thus  spare  us  the  temptation  of  imbruing  our  hands 
in  the  blood  of  our  fellow  creatures."  —  For  the  deli 
cate  refinements  of  casuistry,  one  must  still  turn  to 
the  subtle  and  contemplative  East. 

It  was  an  ill  day  for  Pussy  when  she  left  this  land 
of  ease,  and  began  her  bleak  northwestern  journey. 
Sir  John  Lubbock  asserts  that  there  is  no  proof  of 
her  domestication  in  Great  Britain  or  in  France  be 
fore  the  ninth  century  ;  but  the  dim  records  of  those 
far-off  years  leave  much  untold,  and  she  may  have 
arrived  quietly  and  without  ostentation  a  hundred 
years  or  so  earlier.  That  her  usefulness  was  recog 
nized,  and  that  she  was  highly  prized  as  long  as  her 
rarity  enhanced  her  value,  is  shown  by  an  ancient 
statute  ascribed  to  Howel  Dda,  or  Howel  the  Good, 
a  Welsh  prince  whose  life  is  otherwise  shrouded 
in  obscurity.  This  admirable  ruler  —  assuredly  the 
Wise  as  well  as  the  Good  —  made  a  law  in  948, 


THE  DARK  AGES  27 

regulating  the  market  price  of  cats ;  a  penny  for  a 
kitten  before  its  eyes  were  open,  twopence  until  it 
had  caught  its  first  mouse,  fourpence  when  it  was 
old  enough  for  combat.  He  who  stole  a  cat  from 
the  royal  granaries  forfeited  either  a  milch  ewe  with 
its  fleece  and  lamb,  or  as  much  wheat  as  would 
cover  the  body  of  the  cat  suspended  by  its  tail,  with 
its  nose  touching  the  ground.  A  pleasant,  pictur 
esque  old  law,  discerning  the  artistic  possibilities 
of  punishment,  and  insuring  to  Pussy  her  place  in 
economics.  A  penny  was  a  vastly  respectable  coin 
in  the  tenth  century. 

There  are  few  golden  pages,  however,  in  the 
broken  annals  of  the  cat  during  the  long  dark  years 
of  mediaeval  history.  Feudalism  with  its  splen 
dours  and  discomforts,  its  swift  alternations  of  mag 
nificent  loyalty  and  fierce  rebellion,  its  restless  am 
bitions  and  perpetual  warfare,  offered  little  but 
misery  to  a  cat.  Change  of  any  kind  has  ever  been 
abhorrent  to  her  spirit,  and  those  were  days  when 
nothing  was  permanent  save  death.  Order  and 
tranquillity  are  essential  to  her  well-being  ;  and  the 
world,  seething  with  strife,  exulted  in  its  own  mea 
sureless  confusion.  The  dog,  faithful  follower  of 
man's  scattered  fortunes,  and  trusted  guardian  of 
all  that  was  held  dear,  reached  his  apotheosis  in 
these  troubled  times.  Baron  and  knight,  burgher 
and  serf  united  in  recognition  of  his  merits.  In 


28  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

castle  hall,  by  cottage  hearth,  at  the  door  of  my 
lady's  chamber,  he  kept  loyal  watch  and  ward. 
Poets  praised  him,  kings  caressed  him,  beggars 
bound  him  to  their  wretchedness ;  and  nuns,  on 
whom  the  rule  of  Poverty  weighed  not  too  heavily, 
—  like  Chaucer's  Prioresse,  —  carried  him  upon 
blessed  pilgrimages,  and  fed  him  daintily 

"  With  rosted  flessh,  or  mylk  and  wastel  breed." 

Carved  in  stone  and  moulded  in  bronze,  we  see 
him  on  beautiful  old  tombs,  couchant  at  the  feet  of 
mailed  knights  and  noble  dames,  sharing  the  still 
magnificence  of  death  as  he  shared  the  glory  and 
the  tumult  of  life.  Mother  Church  took  him  under 
her  protection,  for  it  was  well  known  that  when 
Saint  Roch  appeared  at  Heaven's  court,  his  dog 
stood  by  his  side  ;  and  Saint  Peter,  who  values 
faithful  service,  smiled  as  he  opened  wide  the  gates. 
From  countless  altars  of  Catholic  Christendom, 
Saint  Roch  —  most  pitiful  because  most  suffering 
of  Saints  —  showed,  and  still  shows  to  poor  human 
ity  the  plague  spot  on  his  knee  ;  and  still  at  his  feet 
is  the  dumb  friend  whom  no  excess  of  misery  could 
alienate,  the  animal  in  whose  heart  God  has  im 
planted  a  steadfastness  of  affection  which  is  one  of 
the  kindly  miracles  of  creation. 

The  colder  temperament  of  the  cat,  her  self- 
sufficing  independence  of  character,  her  impene 
trable  reserve,  her  love  of  gentleness  and  luxury, 


THE  DARK  AGES  29 

unfitted  her  for  the  stern  rude  life  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  She  was  no  loyal  servant,  no  follower  of 
camps,  no  votaress  of  martial  joys.  Only  in  the 
cities,  where  some  semblance  of  order  was  usually 
preserved,  and  some  snug  comforts  guaranteed, 
could  she  have  found  a  home.  It  is  a  significant 
circumstance  that  the  commercial  legend  of  Dick 
Whittington  is  the  only  pleasant  story  in  which  the 
English  cat  figures  with  prominence  during  several 
centuries  ;  and  surely  no  tale  could  better  illustrate 
the  exact  nature  of  her  position. 

In  the  first  place,  she  was  of  trifling  value.  A 
poor  boy,  who  owned  nothing  else  in  the  world, 
owned  a  cat.  Like  the  miller's  son  in  "  Puss-in- 
Boots,"  Dick  possessed  something  which  nobody 
thought  it  worth  while  to  take  from  him.  That  he 
had  little  love  for  this  cat  is  proven  by  the  alacrity 
with  which  he  parted  from  her,  sending  her  away 
upon  a  long  and  perilous  voyage,  on  the  bare  chance 
of  her  yielding  him  a  profit.  She  was  in  no  wise 
his  friend  and  companion  ;  she  was  merely  his 
property,  to  be  disposed  of  as  any  other  piece  of 
merchandise.  Dick  was  a  tradesman  to  his  finger 
tips,  and  worthy  of  all  the  civic  honours  heaped 
upon  him.  That  his  first  speculation  proved  suc 
cessful  was  due  wholly  to  the  accident  which  car 
ried  poor  Pussy  to  a  catless  land,  overrun  by  rats 
and  mice.  Utilitarianism,  commercialism,  a  flavour 


3o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

of  export  and  import  pervade  the  tale.  There  is  no 
graceful  sentiment  to  hallow  it ;  and  the  utmost  we 
can  claim  for  young  Richard  is  that  he  was  not 
a  weakling  like  the  miller's  son,  who  had  to  be 
dragged  by  Ids  cat  to  affluence  and  a  throne.  Once 
started  on  the  way,  Dick  built  up  his  own  fortunes 
with  a  steady  hand.  Indeed,  a  boy  who  could  so 
lightly  part  with  the  only  living  thing  he  might 
have  held  by  his  side,  was  in  no  danger  of  being 
outstripped  in  the  hard  race  for  wealth. 

Commonplace  as  is  the  story  of  Whittington's 
cat,  it  is  nevertheless  a  legacy  which  we  have  no 
mind  to  lose ;  and  all  conscientious  chroniclers 
should  protest  against  the  grovelling  preciseness 
which  would  banish  it  from  England's  annals. 
There  are  records  to  show  that  "  Richard  Whityng- 
don  "  was  thrice  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  serving  in 
1397,  1406,  and  1409  ;  that  he  was  born  in  Glouces 
tershire,  was  a  mercer  by  trade,  that  he  married 
Alice  Fitzwarren,  and  that  he  lent  one  thousand 
pounds  —  doubtless  at  goodly  interest  —  to  King 
Henry  the  Fourth.  There  is  also  the  evidence  of 
that  venerable  stone  which  was  found  in  the  garden 
of  a  house  in  Westgate  Street,  Gloucester,  where  the 
grand-nephew  of  the  Lord  Mayor  is  known  to  have 
lived  in  1460.  This  stone  represents  in  bas-relief 
a  boy  holding  in  his  arms  a  cat,  the  ever-famous  cat 
that  lifted  her  young  master  from  penury ;  and  it  is 


THE  DARK  AGES  31 

a  pleasant  proof  that  the  Whityngdons  were  not 
unmindful  of  the  source  whence  sprang  their  wealth 
and  distinction. 

What  makes  the  historian  so  eager  to  dwell  long 
and  lovingly  upon  every  page  gilded  by  Pussy's  tri 
umphs  is  the  deepening  gloom  through  which  we 
see  her  little  figure  steal  frightened  and  forlorn. 
For  centuries  she  is  hidden  from  our  sight ;  and, 
when  she  emerges  out  of  the  unknown,  a  strange 
and  melancholy  change  has  come  over  her  fortunes. 
Here  and  there  we  find  such  scanty  proof  as  I  have 
offered  of  toleration,  and  even  of  esteem,  on  the 
score  of  usefulness  ;  but,  as  she  grew  in  time  to  be 
a  familiar  object  in  the  homes  of  men,  they  looked 
at  her  askance  with  cruel  and  troubled  eyes.  The 
god  of  Egypt,  the  plaything  of  Rome,  became,  by 
some  sad  ill  chance,  a  symbol  of  evil  things.  Her 
beauty,  her  grace,  her  gentleness  availed  her  no 
thing.  She  was  the  witch's  friend,  and  on  many 
a  murky  midnight  had  gazed  unblinkingly  upon 
shameful  spells.  The  Prince  of  the  Power  of  Dark 
ness  had  taken  her  for  his  own,  and  she  dwelt  by 
the  hearths  of  men  to  lure  them  to  destruction. 
The  cat  that  served  seven  masters,  each  for  seven 
years,  carried  the  soul  of  the  seventh  into  Hell. 
Like  the  were-wolf,  she  set  free  the  primitive,  bes 
tial  impulses  of  humanity.  The  wife  who  left  her 
sleeping  husband's  side  to  share  the  obscene  revels 


32  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

of  warlocks  and  of  witches,  stole  through  the  lattice 
window  as  a  sleek  black  cat.  Perchance  some 
passing  traveller,  seeing  her  glide  by,  wounded  her 
with  stone  or  sword ;  and  the  next  morning  she  was 
found  maimed  and  bleeding  beneath  the  counter 
pane.  In  ruined  churches,  pillaged  and  desecrated 
by  the  unsparing  wickedness  of  war,  there  assem 
bled,  on  the  eve  of  Saint  John,  hags  and  wizards 
and  young  girls  caught  in  Satan's  toils,  all  creeping 
through  the  darkness  under  the  forms  of  cats,  and 
all  afire  with  impious  relish  for  sorcery  and  sin. 

Innumerable  legends  cluster  around  the  cat  dur 
ing  these  picturesque  centuries  of  superstition, 
when  men  were  poor  in  letters,  but  rich  in  vivid 
imaginings  ;  when  they  were  densely  ignorant,  but 
never  dull.  Even  after  the  Dark  Ages  had  grown 
light,  there  was  no  lifting  of  the  gloom  which 
enveloped  Pussy's  pathway,  there  was  no  visible 
softening  of  her  lot.  The  stories  told  of  her  imp 
ish  wickedness  have  the  same  general  character 
throughout  Europe.  We  meet  them  with  modest 
variations  in  France,  in  Germany,  in  Sweden,  Den 
mark,  England,  Scotland  and  Wales.  It  was  a  be 
lated  woodcutter  of  Brittany  who  saw  with  horror- 
stricken  eyes  thirteen  cats  dancing  in  sacrilegious 
glee  around  a  wayside  crucifix.  One  he  killed  with 
his  axe,  and  the  other  twelve  disappeared  in  a 
trice.  It  was  a  charcoal-burner  in  the  Black  F"or- 


THE  DARK  AGES  33 

est  who,  hearing  strange  noises  near  his  kiln  at 
night,  arose  from  bed  and  stepped  into  the  clear 
ing.  Before  him,  motionless  in  the  moonlight,  sat 
three  cats.  He  stooped  to  pick  up  a  stone,  and 
the  relic  of  Saint  Gildas  he  carried  in  his  bosom 
fell  from  its  snapt  string  upon  the  ground.  Im 
mediately  his  arm  hung  helpless,  and  he  could  not 
touch  the  stone.  Then  one  of  the  cats  said  to  its 
companions  :  "  For  the  sake  of  his  wife,  who  is  my 
gossip,  sisters,  let  him  go  ! "  and  the  next  morning 
he  was  found  lying  unconscious,  but  unharmed, 
across  the  forest  road. 

From  Scandinavia,  where  the  fair  white  cats  of 
Freija  were  once  as  honoured  as  were  Odin's  ravens 
and  Thor's  goats,  comes  the  tale  of  the  haunted 
mill  in  which  dreadful  revelry  was  heard  at  night, 
and  which  had  been  twice  burned  to  the  ground  on 
Whitsun  Eve.  The  third  year,  a  travelling  tailor, 
pious  and  brave,  offered  to  keep  watch.  He 
chalked  a  circle  on  the  floor,  wrote  the  Lord's 
prayer  around  it,  and  waited  with  patience  until 
midnight.  Then  a  troop  of  cats  crept  stealthily  in, 
carrying  a  great  pot  of  pitch  which  they  hung  in 
the  fireplace,  lighting  the  logs  beneath  it.  Soon 
the  pitch  bubbled  and  seethed,  and  the  cats,  swing 
ing  the  pot,  tried  to  overturn  it.  The  tailor  drove 
them  away  ;  and  when  one,  who  seemed  to  be  the 
leader,  sought  to  pull  him  gently  outside  the  magic 


34  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

circle,  he  cut  off  its  paw  with  his  knife.  Upon  this 
they  all  fled  howling  into  the  night  ;  and  the  next 
morning  the  miller  saw  with  joy  his  mill  standing 
unharmed,  and  the  great  wheel  turning  merrily  in 
the  water.  But  the  miller's  wife  was  ill  in  bed ; 
and,  when  the  tailor  bade  her  good-by,  she  gave 
him  her  left  hand,  hiding  beneath  the  bedclothes 
the  right  arm's  bleeding  stump. 

There  is  also  a  Scandinavian  version  of  the  ever 
famous  story  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  told  to  Wash 
ington  Irving,  which  "  Monk  "  Lewis  told  to  Shel 
ley,  and  which,  in  one  form  or  another,  we  find 
embodied  in  the  folk-lore  of  every  land,  —  the  story 
of  the  traveller  who  saw  within  a  ruined  abbey  a 
procession  of  cats  lowering  into  its  grave  a  little 
coffin  with  a  crown  upon  it.  Filled  with  horror,  he 
hastened  from  the  spot  ;  but  when  he  reached  his 
destination,  he  could  not  forbear  relating  to  a  friend 
the  wonder  he  had  seen.  Scarcely  had  the  tale 
been  told,  when  his  friend's  cat,  who  lay  curled  up 
tranquilly  by  the  fire,  sprang  to  its  feet,  cried  out, 
"  Then  I  am  the  King  of  the  Cats  ! "  and  disap 
peared  in  a  flash  up  the  chimney. 

In  the  Norwegian  tale,  which  lacks  the  subtle 
suggestiveness  of  the  German,  the  cat  is  a  young 
Troll,  who,  hiding  from  the  jealous  wrath  of  Knur- 
remurre,  lived  for  three  years  as  a  peaceful  pussy  in 
the  house  of  a  Jutland  peasant.  One  day  this  man, 


THE  DARK  AGES  35 

toiling  to  market  with  his  basket  of  eggs,  was  met  by 
a  Troll  from  Brb'no,  who  sang  out  to  him  lustily  :  — 

"  Hor  du,  riat, 

Siig  til  din  Kat 
At  Knurremurre  er  dod." 

("  Hark  you,  Plat, 

Tell  your  cat 
That  Knurremurre  is  dead.'') 

In  no  way  enlightened  by  this  message,  the  peasant 
went  home  and  repeated  it  to  his  wife  ;  whereupon 
his  cat  leaped  from  the  hearth,  cried  joyously, 
"Then  I  am  the  Master  Troll,"  and  overturned  the 
pot  of  soup  in  his  haste  to  scramble  up  the  chimney, 
and  be  gone. 

In  Sternberg's  "  Legends  of  Northamptonshire," 
we  have  the  story  of  a  woodman  whose  dinner  was 
stolen  from  him  daily  by  a  cat.  After  many  vain 
attempts,  he  succeeded  in  waylaying  the  creature 
and  cutting  off  one  of  its  paws,  only  to  find,  when 
he  reached  home,  that  his  wife  had  lost  her  hand. 
The  curious  deviltry  which  provoked  witches  to 
plague  their  husbands,  in  preference  to  other  men, 
is  one  of  the  interesting  points  in  the  annals  of 
sorcery.  Those  were  wild  times,  when  strength 
ruled  the  world  roughly ;  and  the  witch  wife  — 
once  innocent  and  weak  —  had  doubtless  a  long 
score  of  insults  to  avenge  before  she  took  to  burn 
ing  her  husband's  mill,  or  stealing  his  daily  bread. 


36  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

As  for  the  poor  cat,  her  fate  was  sealed ;  and  we 
can  hardly  wonder  at  the  deep  suspicion  with  which 
men  regarded  an  animal  so  mysterious,  and  so 
closely  allied  to  the  supernatural.  Even  when  her 
behaviour  was  harmless  or  beneficial,  they  feared  a 
lurking  malice  which  never  lacked  the  power  for 
evil  things.  M.  Champfleury  tells  us  of  a  French 
woman,  a  native  of  Billancourt,  who  was  peacefully 
cooking  an  omelette,  when  a  black  cat  strayed  into 
her  cottage,  and  sat  upright  on  the  hearth.  She 
took  no  notice  of  the  creature,  but  went  on  with 
her  work.  The  cat  watched  the  omelette  atten 
tively  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  :  "  It  is  done. 
Turn  it  over."  Indignant  at  advice  from  such  a 
quarter,  the  woman  hastily  flung  her  half-cooked 
eggs  at  the  beast's  head,  and  the  next  morning  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  a  deep  red  burn  on  the 
cheek  of  an  evilly  disposed  neighbour. 

The  trials  for  witchcraft — always  of  absorbing 
interest  —  offer  ample  proof  of  Pussy's  wicked  asso 
ciations.  Again  and  again  she  figures  with  dire 
ful  prominence  in  the  records  of  demonology.  A 
black-hearted  Scottish  witch  confessed  in  the  year 
1591  that  she  had  impiously  christened  a  cat  ;  and 
that  she  and  other  witches  had  carried  this  animal 
"  sayling  in  their  Riddles  or  Gives  into  the  middest 
of  the  sea,  and  so  left  it  before  the  towne  of  Leith  ; 
whereupon  there  did  arise  such  a  tempest  at  sea,  as 


THE  DARK  AGES  37 

a  greater  hath  not  been  seen."  Nor  was  this  all. 
It  was  against  King  Jamie  —  pious  enemy  of 
witchcraft  —  that  these  hags  worked  their  will. 
"  Againe  it  is  confessed  that  the  said  christened 
cat  was  the  cause  that  the  Kinges  Majestie's  shippe, 
at  his  coming  forthe  of  Denmarke,  had  a  contrairie 
winde  to  the  reste  of  the  shippes  then  being  in  his 
companie  ;  which  thing  was  most  straunge  and  true, 
as  the  Kinges  Majestic  acknowledgeth.  For  when 
the  rest  of  the  shippes  had  a  fair  and  good  winde, 
then  was  the  winde  contrairie,  and  altogether 
against  his  Majestic." 

Evidence  of  a  most  disastrous  character  was 
brought  against  the  cat  in  countless  other  trials. 
The  famous  Scotch  witch,  Isobel  Gowdie,  "  convict 
and  brynt  "  —so  saith  the  record  —  in  1662,  con 
fessed  that  it  was  a  common  habit  of  the  sister 
hood  to  change  themselves  into  cats,  and  in  that 
guise  to  prowl  at  night  over  the  country-side,  steal 
ing  into  all  the  farmhouses  that  were  not  fenced 
against  them  by  prayer  and  charms.  She  herself 
had  a  foolish  preference  for  the  form  of  a  hare ; 
and,  as  a  consequence,  had  been  twice  hunted  by 
hounds,  narrowly  escaping  death.  Joan  Peterson 
was  hanged  at  Wapping,  ten  years  earlier,  for  visit 
ing  and  plaguing  her  neighbours  under  the  sem 
blance  of  a  black  cat ;  and  a  sister  witch  met  the 
same  fate  at  Lynn,  for  sending  an  impish  pussy  to 


38  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

sit  at  night  upon  the  bed  of  one  Cicely  Balyer  with 
whom  she  had  grievously  quarrelled. 

This  kind  of  visitation  was  not  infrequent,  —  nor 
altogether  surprising  when  one  considers  the  noc 
turnal  habits  of  cats,  and  the  accessibility  of  cottage 
chimneys,  —  but  the  horror  of  it  brought  many  an 
old  wife  to  the  scaffold.  Janet  Wishart  and  Alice 
Kyteler  were  both  convicted  of  sending  a  "wan- 
toune  cat  "  to  work  evil  upon  such  as  had  offended 
them  ;  and  a  nameless  English  witch,  hanged  in 
King  Jamie's  reign,  confessed  that  she  wrought  all 
her  charms  with  the  help  of  a  dun-coloured  cat, 
that  came  one  night  to  her  cottage  when  she  was 
cowering  over  her  fire,  nursing  angry  thoughts 
against  a  farmer's  wife.  This  beast  dwelt  with  her 
for  months,  stealing  forth  night  after  night  to  obey 
her  foul  behests,  until  there  was  scarce  a  woman  in 
the  village  who  had  not  suffered  from  its  malignity. 

Apparently  there  was  no  piece  of  mischief  too 
great  or  too  trivial  for  an  energetic  and  evilly  dis 
posed  cat.  The  mere  presence  of  Isobel  Grierson's 
pussy  in  broad  daylight  would  turn  sound  ale  sour  ; 
and  the  most  damning  evidence  brought  against 
John  Fian,  a  Scottish  schoolmaster,  strangled  as  a 
warlock  in  1591,  was  that  he  had  been  seen  by 
neighbours  in  hot  pursuit  of  a  cat,  leaping  over 
hedges  and  ditches  like  one  with  wings,  so  furious 
was  the  chase.  When  questioned  as  to  why  he 


THE  DARK  AGES 

hunted  the  animal,  he  unwisely  admitted  —  or  so 
least  deposed  several  garrulous  witnesses  —  tr 
Satan  had  need  of  all  the  cats  his  servants  coi 
bring  him,  being  unable  without  their  aid  to  rai 
storms  or  to  wreck  ships,  —  a  curious  limitation 
diabolic  power. 

The  trial  which  of  all  others,  however,  establish 
the  Scotch  cat's  reputation  for  sorcery  was  that 
Margaret  Gilbert  and  Margaret  Olson,  two  worn 
of  Caithness,  who  were  accused  of  bewitching  t 
household  of  a  stone-mason  named  Montgome: 
by  means  of  a  number  of  cats.  No  bolts  nor  be 
could  exclude  these  emissaries  of  evil,  nor  could  th 
be  killed  like  ordinary  animals.  When  run  throu; 
by  a  sword,  or  cleft  in  twain  by  a  hatchet,  th 
merely  disappeared,  to  return  again  at  some  me 
convenient  opportunity.  Moreover,  they  had 
habit  of  conversing  together  at  night  with  hum 
voices,  but  in  an  unknown  tongue  ;  —  a  habit  whi 
seems  to  have  thrilled  the  unfortunate  Montgo 
eries  with  terror,  and  which,  it  may  well  be  adm 
ted,  was  calculated  to  try  the  nerves.  No  wonc 
that  a  little  maid  servant  fled  from  the  house 
mid-term,  and  would  enter  it  no  more,  after  she  h 
heard  these  cats  talking  by  the  kitchen  fire.  I 
wonder  that  villagers  came  in  time  to  look  askan 
upon  all  pussies  as  possible  imps  of  Belial  ;  — 
possibility  which  assumed  definite  shape  and  n 


40  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

levolence  when  the  ever  famous  witch -finder,  Mat 
thew  Hopkins,  admitted  that  he  himself  had  beheld 
at  dusk  an  evil  spirit  in  the  shape  of  a  "  white 
kitlyn."  This  innocent  looking  object  speedily 
proved  its  diabolic  nature  by  routing  the  pious 
man's  greyhound,  which  turned  tail  and  fled  before 
the  tiny  creature ;  while  Hopkins,  unmindful  for 
once  of  his  serious  duties,  lost  no  time  in  following 
his  dog.  It  was  certainly  a  "  kitlyn  "  of  pluck  and 
spirit  that  roamed  the  English  lanes  that  pleasant 
summer  eve. 

Continental  cats  were  as  deeply  incriminated  as 
were  those  of  Great  Britain.  A  witch  of  Grand- 
cour,  named  Elizabeth  Blanche,  confessed  at  her 
trial  that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  rubbing  her  body 
with  a  black  ointment  which  transformed  her  into  a 
cat,  and  enabled  her  to  steal  unnoticed  through  the 
darkness,  when  summoned  to  devilish  rites.  Ger 
man  witches  trooped  to  the  Brocken  on  Walpurgis 
night  under  the  semblance  of  cats  ;  and  many  were 
the  witnesses  who  swore  that  they  had  tracked  the 
little  footmarks  for  miles  to  the  place  of  meeting. 
El  Gato  Moro — the  Moor-Cat  —  prowled  in  the 
moonlight  about  the  citadel  of  Toledo,  and  pious 
Christians  who  beheld  it  prayed  with  exceeding  fer 
vour  to  be  delivered  from  its  spell.  Jean  Bodin, 
author  of  Demonomanic  dcs  Sorcicrs,  tells  us  with 
sympathetic  gravity  a  number  of  stories  so  curious 


THE   DARK  AGES  41 

and  so  startling  that  we  envy  the  readers  who  were 
fortunate  enough  to  believe  them.  It  is  from 
Bodin  that  we  learn  of  the  witch  cats  who  in  1566 
assembled  in  such  numbers  in  the  forests  near 
Vernon  that  they  terrorized  the  neighbourhood, 
and  no  man  ventured  to  assail  them.  After  a  time 
they  became  so  bold  that  they  attacked  a  party  of 
labourers,  returning  at  nightfall  from  their  \vork. 
The  men,  seeing  themselves  thus  horribly  beset, 
fought  with  desperation  for  their  lives  ;  and,  though 
covered  with  wounds,  managed  to  escape,  having 
killed  one  of  the  cats,  and  injured  a  number  of 
others.  This  battle  proved  the  undoing  of  the 
witches,  for  the  next  morning  a  dozen  women  of 
Vernon  were  found  bleeding  and  mutilated  in  their 
beds  ;  and,  being  brought  promptly  to  trial,  made 
full  confessions,  denouncing  half  their  neighbours 
in  the  country-side. 

Bodin  is  also  responsible  for  the  statement  that 
the  heretical  Waldenses,  when  hard  pushed  by  the 
royal  troops,  summoned  to  their  aid  a  demon  cat, 
under  whose  leadership  and  direction  they  again 
and  again  escaped  unwhipt  of  justice.  This  is  es 
pecially  worth  hearing,  because  it  seems  to  be  one 
of  the  few  instances  in  which  any  practical  assist 
ance  was  lent  by  the  Powers  of  Darkness.  No 
thing  is  more  striking  than  the  supreme  impotence 
of  sorcerers  and  sacrilegists,  when  summoned  to 


42  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

answer  for  their  ill-doing.  With  all  the  vast  ma 
chinery  of  Hell  to  back  them,  they  could  neither 
outwit  nor  outstrip  the  clumsy  pursuit  of  man.  A 
rare  exception  to  this  rule  was  the  case  of  a  baker's 
wife  in  Koln,  who  cruelly  bewitched  her  husband's 
little  apprentice.  When  accused  of  the  crime,  she 
manifested  the  unconcern  of  one  who  had  nothing 
to  fear  ;  and  neither  threats  nor  exhortations  could 
move  her  to  repentance.  She  was  sentenced  to  the 
stake ;  but,  to  the  end,  defied  the  judge,  laughed  at 
the  executioner,  and  mocked  the  priest  with  appall 
ing  blasphemies.  The  fagots  were  fired,  the  smoke 
enveloped  her  thickly,  the  priest  lifted  his  voice  in 
prayer,  —  when,  with  a  wild  exultant  screech,  there 
leaped  from  out  the  flames  a  black  cat,  which  dis 
appeared  in  a  trice  amid  the  terrified  throng.  The 
witch  had  escaped  ;  but  one  trembles  to  think  what 
suspicion  must  have  fallen  for  a  time  on  all  the 
black  pussies  of  Koln. 

Perhaps,  however,  it  was  impossible  to  enhance 
the  guilt  of  an  animal  already  credited  with  such 
frightful  depths  of  malignity.  The  very  word 
Grimalkin,  or  Greymalkin,  which  now  we  use  so 
lightly,  was  the  name  of  a  fiend,  and  bore  a  fearful 
significance  in  the  annals  of  witchcraft. 

"  Now  I  go,  now  I  fly, 
Malkin,  my  sweet  spirit,  and  I," 

sings  Hecate  in  Middleton's  fantastic  play.     A  still 


THE  DARK  AGES  43 

deeper  horror  clings  to  "  Rutterkin,"  for  by  that 
name  was  known  one  of  the  sinfullest  of  cats,  —  a 
terrible  cat,  black,  sinister,  malevolent, 

"  with  eyne  of  burning  coal," 

who  helped  his  most  wicked  mistress  in  the  "  sor 
rowful  bewitchment  "  of  the  Countess  of  Rutland 
and  her  two  young  sons,  and  who  did  more  to  blast 
the  fair  fame  of  his  race  than  any  puss  in  Christen 
dom. 

The  record  of  the  extraordinary  trial  in  which 
Rutterkin  figures  so  darkly  is  to  be  found  in  the 
"Churche  Boke  of  Bottesford."  Here  is  set  forth 
with  many  curious  details  the  story  of  the  witch, 
Joan  Flower,  who  conceived  a  venomous  hatred  of 
the  Earl  of  Rutland,  and  of  his  "noble  Countess," 
—  a  woman  so  gracious,  good,  beautiful  and  kind, 
that  she  was  reverenced  alike  by  rich  and  poor, 
friends,  servants  and  dependents.  Joan,  knowing 
full  well  that  she  could  strike  the  mother  most 
deeply  through  her  son,  stole  a  glove  belonging  to 
the  heir,  soaked  it  in  scalding  water,  pricked  it  with 
pins,  and  rubbed  it  on  the  back  of  her  "  familiar," 
the  black  cat,  Rutterkin.  In  consequence  of  this 
deviltry,  Henry,  Lord  Ross,  sickened  with  strange 
consuming  pangs,  which  racked  him  in  incessant 
torture  until  he  died.  The  hag,  ill  content  even 
with  so  dire  a  vengeance,  next  tried  her  arts  upon 
the  younger  boy,  Francis,  Lord  Ross,  who  had  sue- 


44  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

ceeded  to  his  brother's  title  and  inheritance.  Him, 
too,  she  bewitched,  with  the  ready  aid  of  Rutterkin, 
and  the  poor  child,  wasting  in  hideous  pain,  died  in 
his  mother's  arms.  Then,  to  complete  the  ruin  she 
had  wrought,  and  to  insure  the  downfall  of  a  noble 
house,  Joan  possessed  herself  of  some  feathers  from 
the  bed  of  the  Countess,  and  rubbed  them  upon 
Rutterkin's  belly,  that  the  now  childless  woman 
might  never  again  give  birth  to  a  living  infant. 
The  feathers  and  the  gloves  she  obtained  through 
her  daughter,  Margaret,  who  was  a  servant  in  the 
castle,  and  who  shared  her  mother's  animosity,  and 
her  mother's  crimes. 

Both  Margaret  and  a  younger  sister,  Phyllis 
Flower,  —  what  charming  names  this  witch's  brood 
possessed  !  —  gave  their  evidence  unreservedly  at 
the  trial ;  admitting  all  the  circumstances  related, 
and  hoping  perhaps  that,  by  freely  incriminating 
their  parent,  they  might  themselves  escape.  In 
this  hope  they  were  deceived,  and  the  two  girls 
were  hanged  in  the  year  of  grace  1618.  Joan,  how 
ever,  who  was  either  a  stout-hearted  old  sinner  or  a 
deeply  calumniated  saint,  refused  to  make  any  con 
fession,  and  maintained  her  innocence  steadfastly, 
in  the  face  of  her  daughters'  accusations.  Even  in 
prison  she  persistently  and  solemnly  denied  the 
charges  brought  against  her,  praying  that  the  bread 
she  ate  might  choke  her  if  she  had  ever  been  guilty 


THE  DARK  AGES  45 

of  sorcery.  Whereupon,  —  according  to  the  chroni 
cle,  —  the  bread,  as  it  had  been  a  living  thing,  stuck 
in  her  throat,  and  slowly  strangled  her,  to  the  su 
preme  edification  of  the  bystanders,  who  refused 
to  impiously  interfere  with  the  manifest  workings 
of  Providence.  In  the  parish  church  of  Bottes- 
ford  may  still  be  seen  the  beautiful  tomb  of  the 
Earl  and  Countess  of  Rutland,  with  the  two  little 
boys  kneeling  at  their  parents'  feet  ;  but  what  be 
came  of  Rutterkin,  after  his  guilt  had  been  estab 
lished,  is  nowhere  mentioned,  even  in  the  garrulous 
"Boke." 

Cats  played  a  prominent  part  in  that  most  pitiful 
of  all  such  pitiful  tales,  —  the  bewitchment  of  the 
children  of  Mohra.  In  1669  this  tranquil  Swedish 
village  was  cast  into  fearful  consternation.  Over 
three  hundred  boys  and  girls,  from  six  to  sixteen 
years  of  age,  had  been  seduced,  it  was  believed,  by 
charms  and  cajolery  to  visit  nightly  the  witches' 
meetings,  and  enroll  themselves  in  Satan's  ranks. 
The  poor  children  freely  and  even  eagerly  confessed 
their  guilt,  clinging  with  tenacity  to  all  the  painful 
and  grotesque  details  involved  in  such  a  story ; 
babbling  with  infant  tongues  of  things  too  evil  for 
their  understanding  ;  and  adding  touch  after  touch 
of  loathsome  extravagance,  as  their  imaginations 
became  heated  in  the  riotous  atmosphere  of  credu 
lity.  Among  other  particulars,  they  affirmed  that 


46  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

the  Devil  gave  to  each  of  them  "a  beast  about  the 
bigness  and  shape  of  a  young  cat,"  which  creature 
was  called  a  "carrier,"  its  especial  duty  being  to 
steal  the  butter,  cheese,  milk,  and  bacon  which 
constituted  their  simple  offerings  to  the  Prince  of 
Darkness.  These  thievish  cats  accompanied  them 
to  "  Blockula,"  the  palace  of  Satan,  and  shared 
such  entertainment  as  was  given  them. 

The  readiness  of  the  children  to  incriminate 
themselves  was  surpassed  by  the  infatuation  of 
their  judges.  Fifteen  of  the  poor  little  culprits 
were  actually  condemned  to  death  and  executed 
for  their  hallucinations.  Thirty-six  were  whipped 
every  Sunday  for  a  year  before  the  church  doors, 
and  others  were  punished  with  varying  degrees  of 
severity.  So  widespread  was  the  interest  awakened 
in  this  trial,  that  it  extended  even  to  England,  then 
much  occupied  with  witches  of  her  own.  The  Duke 
of  Holstein  attempted  to  acquaint  himself  with 
all  the  particulars ;  but  was  discouraged  by  the 
Swedish  authorities,  who  deemed  it  best  to  bury  the 
matter  in  oblivion. 

Girt  with  mystery,  burdened  with  subtle  associa 
tions  of  evil,  abhorred  by  the  timorous  and  devout, 
how  was  the  cat  to  escape  from  the  long  martyrdom 
which  awaited  her  ?  The  Church  offered  no  asylum 
to  this  poor  fugitive,  albeit  she  was  not  without  her 
advocates  in  Heaven,  since  both  Saint  Ives,  patron 


THE  DARK  AGES  47 

of  lawyers,  and  Saint  Gertrude,  gentlest  of  mystics, 
had  deigned  to  take  her  under  their  protection. 
Moreover  a  pretty  Italian  legend  softened  in  some 
degree  the  asperity  of  her  lot  in  that  chosen  land  ; 
for  it  was  whispered  that  she  was  created  —  not  to 
mitigate  the  discomforts  of  the  Ark  —  but  to  minis 
ter  to  the  still  greater  needs  of  Saint  Francis  de 
Paula,  when  the  holy  recluse  was  living  in  the 
austere  loneliness  of  his  hermitage.  Satan,  having 
failed  many  times  to^  beguile  the  Saint  from  a  rapt 
ecstasy  of  prayer,  sent,  as  a  last  resource,  hundreds 
of  mice  to  torment  him.  They  swarmed  in  his 
narrow  cell,  gnawed  his  garments,  nibbled  at  his 
feet,  and  behaved  with  the  shameless  audacity  of 
vermin  that  knew  their  diabolic  origin,  and  feared 
no  retribution.  The  monk's  prayers  seemed  ended, 
when  suddenly  there  sprang  from  his  loose  sleeve 
a  small  furry  animal  that  attacked  the  invaders 
with  incredible  speed  and  fury.  So  vigorous  was 
its  onslaught,  that  only  two  mice  escaped  by  hid 
ing  in  a  crack  of  the  wall  ;  and  it  is  to  find  these 
fugitives  that  the  cat's  descendants  still  sit  motion 
less  before  every  little  hole  and  crevice,  waiting,  as 
they  have  waited  ever  since,  for  their  appointed 
prey. 

But  neither  the  gratitude  of  Saint  Francis,  nor 
the  lukewarm  patronage  of  Saint  Ives  and  Saint 
Gertrude  could  save  poor  Pussy  from  black  calumny 


48  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

and  persecution.  Deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
hearts  of  men  sank  the  belief  that  she  was  allied 
with  demons,  and  that  not  only  witches  and 
wizards,  but  their  most  terrible  Master  might  be 
seen  by  guilty  mortals  under  the  disguise  of  a  cat. 
The  unhesitating  acceptance  of  a  personal  Devil, 
as  an  important  factor  in  life,  made  our  ancestors 
exceedingly  alert  to  defeat  his  designs.  No  broad- 
minded  doubts  softened  their  fear  and  detestation  ; 
and  Saint  Dominic  was  not  the  only  powerful 
preacher  who  figured  Satan  as  a  black  cat,  that  he 
might  thrill  his  startled  hearers  into  a  trembling 
abhorrence  of  sin.  One  result  of  this  darkening  of 
Pussy's  character  is  that  she  can  seldom  be  found 
in  church  architecture  or  decoration,  where  more 
innocent  animals  have  frisked  and  gambolled  for 
centuries.  Indeed  there  are  antiquarians  who  ma 
liciously  assert  that  her  rare  appearance  —  distorted 
out  of  grace  and  beauty  —  in  some  dim  corner  of  a 
very  old  cathedral,  is  due,  not  to  any  softening  of  a 
universal  prejudice,  but  to  that  sombre  Manichean 
heresy  which  constantly  found  expression  in  sym 
bolizing  triumphant  evil.  They  profess  to  believe 
that  mediaeval  stone-masons,  tainted  with  this  un 
holy  creed,  yet  discreet  enough  to  conceal  their 
errors  from  the  Church's  chastening  hand,  indicated 
the  nature  of  their  views  by  carving,  on  pulpit 
and  on  pillar,  ravenous  monsters,  —  lions,  leopards, 


THE  DARK  AGES  49 

cats,  all  equally  unrecognizable,  but  all  alike  glutted 
with  prey.  Thus  they  handed  down  to  posterity 
the  disquiet  of  their  souls,  without  risking  the  short, 
stern  shrift  of  an  ecclesiastical  court. 

The  theory,  like  most  theories,  is  entertaining  ; 
but  even  heresy  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  given 
the  cat  her  due.  She  was  practically  banished 
from  cathedrals,  save  at  Rouen,  where  we  find  her 
bravely  chasing  a  mouse  around  one  of  the  pillars 
in  the  nave.  A  careful  search  will  also  reveal  her 
occasional  presence  in  the  beautiful  old  choir  stalls, 
where  the  genius  of  the  medkeval  wood-carver 
resolved  itself  into  an  infinite  capacity  for  taking 
pains.  Amid  the  riotous  groups  of  greyhounds, 
monkeys,  and  birds,  we  may  see  her  —  though  very 
rarely  —  curled  up  in  a  recess,  or  springing  with 
splendid  freedom  amid  a  network  of  oaken  leaves. 
There  are  two  very  droll  cats  in  the  choir  of  the 
old  Minster  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet ;  and  on  one  of 
the  stalls  of  Great  Malvern  church  a  pair  of  rats 
are  engaged  in  the  congenial  task  of  gibbeting  a 
cat,  —  "  Ic  monde  bc-storm?"  as  this  reversal  of  a 
natural  law  was  called  in  ancient  France. 

Venice  gives  us  a  much  finer  exception  in  the 
superb  choir-stalls  of  San  Georgio  Maggiore,  carved 
by  Albert  de  Brule  at  the  very  close  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  when  prejudice  and  superstition  were 
losing  their  ancient  hold.  They  represent  scenes 


5o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

from  the  life  of  Saint  Benedict  ;  and  the  Flemish 
sculptor,  deeming  no  convent  complete  without  its 
cat,  has  slyly  introduced  several  into  his  pious 
work.  One  stall  shows  us  Pussy  quarrelling  in  a 
most  unsanctified  spirit  with  Benedict's  blessed 
raven  ;  and,  in  another,  we  see  her  eating  a  mouse 
under  the  bed  of  a  sleepy  brother  whom  the  Saint 
is  vainly  endeavouring  to  arouse.  The  elaborate 
oak  panellings  which  surround  the  altar  in  the 
upper  sala  of  the  Scuola  di  San  Rocco  are  of  a 
much  later  date,  so  that  we  are  hardly  surprised  at 
the  frank  admission  of  a  cat  into  Saint  Roch's  com 
pany.  She  sits  on  a  well-curb,  regarding  him  with 
thoughtful  indifference.  The  anxious  solicitude  of 
his  dog,  the  sleepy  affection  of  Saint  Jerome's  lion, 
the  humble  fidelity  of  Saint  Anthony's  pig,  find  no 
reflection  in  her  steadfast  gaze.  She  merely  stares 
at  the  Saint,  as  she  stares  at  Venice  from  one  of 
the  columns  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  Some  subtle 
lack  of  sentiment  renders  her  curiously  ill-adapted 
for  pious  parts,  notwithstanding  her  constant  and 
very  charming  presence  in  Italian  art,  of  which 
much  may  be  said.  Certain  it  is  that  she  was 
deliberately  ignored  throughout  those  earlier  years, 
when  the  great  cathedrals  rose  slowly  and  superbly 
into  being.  We  cannot  believe  with  M.  Champfleury 
that  the  sculptors  of  the  Middle  Ages  failed  to  rec 
ognize  the  cat's  beauty  and  grace  ;  she  must  have 


THE    DARK    AGES  51 

leaped  as  lightly  then  as  now  upon  her  quivering 
prey  ;  but  hers  was  a  sinister  loveliness  which  they 
deemed  unfit  to  adorn  the  splendid  monuments  of 
Christendom. 


CHAPTER   III 

PERSECUTION 


'  Beware  of  old  black  cats  with  evil  faces." 

aggressiveness  of  our  fore 
fathers  puzzles  and  repels  us. 
It  is  the  quality  which,  of  all 
others,  is  least  comprehensible   to   the 
unconcern  which  we  call  tolerance,  and 
to  the  sensitiveness  which  we  call  hu 
manity.     How,  we  ask  ourselves,  could 
men  have  felt  cock-sure  of  things  about 
which    they    knew    nothing ;    and    why 
should  they  have  deemed  it  essential  to  beat  their 
convictions  into   other  men's   brains  ?     The    speed 
and  sincerity  with  which  principles  were  translated 
into  action  five  hundred  years  ago  kept  all  Christen 
dom  in    commotion.      People    did    not    then   shrug 


PERSECUTION  53 

their  shoulders  and  say,  "  'T  is  a  pity  Neighbour 
Hearne  standeth  apart  from  Church;"  or  "'Tis 
passing  strange  Dame  Gurton  should  be  so  mali 
ciously  disposed."  By  no  means  !  They  saw  to  it 
that  Hearne  either  went  to  church,  or  stood  his  trial 
for  heresy ;  and  they  brought  the  sour  old  woman 
to  a  more  amiable  frame  of  mind,  or  to  the  witch's 
stake.  Neither  did  they  observe  with  scholarly 
composure  that  the  adoption  of  the  cat  by  the  black 
race  of  sorcerers  was  a  "  curious  custom,  worthy  of 
research."  They  said,  "  Like  master,  like  servant ;  " 
and  tossed  poor  Pussy  into  the  terrible  bonfire 
which  blazed  for  her  on  the  Eve  of  Saint  John. 

Now  and  then  a  student,  gentle  and  profound,  as 
one  Balthazar  Bekker  of  fragrant  memory,  asserted 
the  innocence  of  the  cat,  —  perhaps  he  had  a  kitten 
of  his  own,  —  and  declared  the  dog  to  be  more 
deeply  versed  than  she  in  the  unholy  arts  of  necro 
mancy.  But  the  people  knew  better  than  this. 
The  frank  integrity  of  the  dog  was  unmistakable. 
One  wag  of  his  honest  tail  disarmed  suspicion. 
Blunder  he  might,  and  fall  perchance  from  grace ; 
but  the  subtle  witchery  of  the  cat  was  far  beyond 
his  canine  comprehension. 

Moreover  the  weight  of  evidence  was  always 
against  the  cat.  At  the  trial  of  Rebecca  Walther, 
a  woman  of  Neuchatel  who  was  strangled  as  a 
sorceress  in  1647,  it  was  proven  that  a  neighbour's 


54  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

dog,  trotting  soberly  along  the  road,  fell  dead  in 
the  dust,  when  the  witch  came  to  her  doorway,  and 
fixed  her  cold  malignant  eye  upon  him.  Who  ever 
heard  of  a  cat  dying  of  such  delicate  susceptibility  ? 
Perronon  Meguin,  another  witch  of  the  same  town, 
did  indeed  contrive  to  kill  an  enemy's  cat  by  smear 
ing  it  with  a  poisonous  ointment  ;  but  this  was  a 
natural  and  laborious  method,  akin  to  bootjacks  and 
blunderbusses.  People,  unaided  by  Satan,  have 
done  as  much. 

Finally,  as  proof  indubitable  of  Pussy's  guilt,  we 
have  the  report  of  the  learned  jurist,  Kessner,  who 
collected  the  records  of  countless  witch-trials,  and 
published  them  for  the  enlightenment  of  the  curious, 
and  the  edification  of  the  devout.  In  the  evidence 
offered  at  these  trials,  it  was  shown  that,  whereas 
the  Arch-Fiend  appeared  to  his  followers  but  sixty 
times  as  a  cavalier,  and  but  two  hundred  and  fifteen 
times  as  a  he-goat,  he  took  more  than  nine  hundred 
times  the  congenial  form  of  a  black  cat  ;  —  reason 
enough  for  giving  this  accursed  animal  a  wide  and 
cautious  berth. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Pussy  entered  upon  long 
years  of  persecution,  and  her  annals  are  so  freighted 
with  misery  that,  to  one  who  loves  her  dearly,  the 
mere  recital  of  her  pain  is  beyond  measure  griev 
ous.  There  is  still  to  be  seen  a  receipt  for  two 
hundred  " sols  parisis"  dated  1575,  and  signed  by 


PERSECUTION  55 

Lucas  Pommoreux,  — abhorred  forever  be  his  name ! 
—  who  for  three  years  had  supplied  "  all  the  cats 
needed  for  the  fire  on  Saint  John's  day."  "  To 
toss  a  few  cats  into  the  flames  on  the  festival  of 
Saint  John  was  considered  an  encouragement  to 
morality,"  observes  M.  de  Meril  ;  and  an  old  French 
song  celebrates  with  pitiless  gayety  the  fate 

"  D'un  chat  qui,  d'une  course  breve, 
Monta  au  feu  Saint  Jean  de  Greve." 

The  custom  continued  in  force,  losing  none  of  its 
popularity,  until  1604,  when  the  gracious  child, 
afterwards  Louis  the  Thirteenth,  interceded  at 
court  for  the  lives  of  these  poor  animals,  and  ob 
tained  from  Henry  the  Fourth  an  edict  which  ended 
the  barbarous  sport. 

What  incited  the  villagers  of  France  to  build 
these  sacrificial  fires  was  the  widespread  belief  that 
all  cats  attended  the  great  Witches'  Sabbath  on 
Saint  John's  Eve.  Fontenelle  told  Moncrif  —  that 
courtly  chronicler  of  high-born  pussies  — that,  when 
he  was  a  little  boy,  not  even  a  kitten  was  to  be 
seen  on  this  night  of  mystery.  The  whole  feline 
population  was  abroad  —  or  so  he  conceived —  intent 
on  deeds  of  mischief.  In  Picardy  the  burning  of 
cats  took  place  on  the  first  Sunday  of  Lent,  and 
was  part  of  the  "Bihourdi,"  a  festival  so  old  that 
nobody  is  sure  of  its  origin.  Lanterns  and  torches 
were  carried  through  the  village  streets,  bonfires 


56  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

were  lit,  fiddlers  scraped  their  bows,  and  —  crown 
ing  relish  of  the  entertainment  —  cats,  fastened  to 
long  poles,  were  dropped  into  the  heart  of  the 
flames,  while  the  children  danced  merrily,  hand  in 
hand,  laughing  and  screaming  with  delight.  The 
Flemish  peasants,  more  stolid  and  unimaginative, 
carried  their  cats  in  bags  to  the  top  of  steeple  or 
belfry,  and  dropped  the  poor  creatures  from  this 
cruel  height.  A  statute  of  1618  forbids  the  in 
habitants  of  Ypres  the  pleasure  of  hurling  a  cat 
from  their  tower  on  the  second  Wednesday  in 
Lent,  as  had  been  their  honoured  custom  for  years. 

To  Brussels  is  due  the  unenviable  distinction  of 
having  produced  the  first  cat  organ,  in  1 549.  This 
triumph  of  ingenuity  was  designed  to  lend  merri 
ment  to  the  street  pageant  in  honour  of  Philip  the 
Second,  and  is  described  by  Juan  Cristoval,  a  Span 
iard  in  attendance  upon  the  King. 

"  The  organ,"  says  Cristoval,  "was  carried  on  a 
car,  with  a  great  bear  for  the  musician.  In  place 
of  pipes,  it  had  twenty  cats  separately  confined  in 
narrow  cases,  from  which  they  could  not  stir. 
Their  tails  were  tied  to  cords  attached  to  the  key 
board  of  the  organ.  When  the  bear  pounded  the 
keys,  the  cords  were  jerked,  and  this  pulled  the 
tails  of  the  cats,  and  made  them  mew  in  bass  or 
treble  notes,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  airs." 

Such  an  invention  could  have  afforded,  at  best, 


PERSECUTION  57 

but  doubtful  entertainment ;  yet  the  cat  organ  was 
so  widely  appreciated  that  German  humourists  un 
dertook  to  alter  and  improve  it ;  and  after  a  time  a 
choice  variety  of  instruments  were  constructed,  in 
all  of  which  cats  were  induced  by  some  well  applied 
torture  to  furnish  forth  the  necessary  music.  The 
same  ingenuity  was  revealed  in  forcing  Pussy  to 
play  other  prominent' but  reluctant  parts  in  public 
celebrations  or  rejoicings,  especially  when  these 
were  of  a  religious  character ;  for  then  the  people 
naturally  felt  that  the  cruelty  which  so  pleased 
their  hearts  was  sanctified  and  devout,  —  at  once  a 
protest  against  the  shortcomings  of  their  neighbours, 
and  an  illustration  of  their  own  superior  piety.  In 
an  entertaining  old  book  called  "  Twenty  Lookes 
over  all  the  Round-heads  in  the  World,"  which  was 
published  in  England  in  1643,  we  find  related  with 
honest  pride  an  incident  designed  to  show  the  zeal 
of  the  London  populace  for  the  principles  of  the 
Reformation. 

"  In  the  Reigne  of  Queene  Mary  (at  which  time 
Popery  was  much  exalted),  then  were  the  Round 
heads  "  —  i.  e.,  the  monks  and  friars  —  "  so  odious 
to  the  people,  that  in  derision  of  them  was  a  Cat 
taken  on  a  Sabbath  day,  with  her  head  shorne  as  a 
Fryer's,  and  the  likenesse  of  a  vestment  cast  over 
her,  with  her  feet  tied  together,  and  a  round  piece 
of  paper  like  a  singing  Cake  between  them ;  and 


58  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

thus  was  she  hanged  on  a  gallows  in  Cheapside, 
neere  to  the  Crosse,  in  the  Parish  of  Saint  Mathew. 
Which  Cat,  being  taken  down,  was  carried  to  the 
Bishop  of  London,  and  by  him  sent  to  Doctor  Pen- 
dleton  (who  was  then  preaching  at  Paul's  Cross), 
commanding  it  to  be  shown  to  the  Congregation. 
The  Round-head  Fryers  cannot  abide  to  heare  of 
this  Cat." 

It  would  seem  as  though  the  friars  might  have 
been  less  ashamed  of  such  a  cruel  and  ribald  jest 
than  the  perpetrators  thereof  ;  but,  to  the  robust 
temper  of  the  time,  buffoonery  dishonoured  its  vic 
tims.  Whatever  was  made  ridiculous  was  made 
contemptible  ;  and  the  poor  cat,  swinging  in  its 
priestly  vestments,  offered  an  argument  against 
Popery  as  simple  as  it  was  sound. 

A  still  more  forcible  demonstration  of  the  popu 
lar  humour  lent  vivacity  to  the  rejoicings  with  which 
London  celebrated  the  coronation  of  Queen  Eliza 
beth.  In  the  Hatton  correspondence  there  is  a 
lively  account  of  all  the  pageants,  speeches,  and 
"  mighty  bonfires  "  which,  on  this  august  occasion, 
gladdened  loyal  hearts  ;  and  particular  mention  is 
made  of  the  burning  of  a  "most  costly  Pope,"  con 
structed  of  wicker-work,  and  carried  with  mock 
solemnity  through  the  streets,  accompanied  by  two 
"  divells."  The  interior  of  this  Pope  was  filled  with 
live  cats  ;  "  which  cats,"  says  the  writer  gleefully, 


PERSECUTION  59 

"squalled  in  a  most  hideous  manner  as  soon  as  they 
felt  the  fire;"  —to  the  delight  of  the  spectators, 
who  jokingly  pretended  that  it  was  the  language  of 
the  Pope  and  the  devils  which  they  heard.  The 
cat  organ  of  the  Brussels  fete  fades  into  mere 
humanity  alongside  of  playfulness  like  this. 

Why,  we  ask  ourselves,  should  the  cat  have  been 
ever  the  chosen  victim  of  such  savage  sport  ?  All 
animals  can  suffer  ;  most  animals  can  cry  out  in 
their  pain.  The  pleasure  derived  from  torturing  a 
cat  could  have  been  no  keener  than  that  which 
might  have  been  yielded  by  the  suffering  of  any 
other  beast.  What  was  it  then  that  lent  such  pecu 
liar  appropriateness  and  piquancy  to  the  sacrifice 
of  this  gentle  little  creature,  unless  her  association 
with  witchcraft  and  the  powers  of  evil  placed  her 
beyond  mercy's  pale  ?  Not  only  was  there  no  pity 
for  her  in  the  world  ;  but  superstition  had  so  claimed 
her  for  its  prey  that  foul  murder  dogged  her  steps 
from  innocent  kittenhood,  however  softly  and  warily 
she  might  tread.  Bucolic  England,  thick-skulled 
and  heavy-witted,  roasted  her  alive  in  its  brick 
ovens,  simply  because  such  a  holocaust  was  be 
lieved,  none  knew  why,  to  bring  good  luck  to  the 
house.  Scotland,  more  imaginative  and  more  sin 
ister,  spitted  her  before  a  slow  fire,  as  a  means  of 
divining  the  future.  It  was  thought  that  the  witch 
cats  of  the  neighbourhood  would  come  to  their 


60  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

comrade's  aid,  —  which  does  credit  to  their  kind 
ness  of  heart,  —  and  would  answer  any  questions 
to  obtain  her  release. 

Strange  and  gruesome  remedies  for  rheumatism, 
and  ague,  and  all  the  ills  that  village  flesh  is  heir 
to,  were  extracted  from  Pussy's  brains  and  bones ; 
and  countless  means  were  devised  by  which  she 
might  afford  the  rural  population  such  entertain 
ment  as  it  was  best  fitted  to  enjoy.  Scottish  pea 
sants  amused  themselves  by  hanging  her  up  in  a 
small  cask  or  firkin,  half  full  of  soot,  at  which  men 
and  boys  struck  vigorous  blows,  striving  to  escape 
before  the  soot  fell  on  them.  This  primitive  game 
might  have  been  played  just  as  effectively  without 
the  assistance  of  the  cat ;  but  it  would  have  been 
flavourless  had  it  lacked  what  Montaigne  so  admir 
ably  calls  "  the  tart,  sweet  pleasure  of  inflicting 
pain." 

In  England,  a  cat  tucked  into  a  leathern  bottle 
was  a  favourite  target  for  archery.  —  "  Hang  me 
in  a  bottle  like  a  cat,  and  shoot  at  me,"  says  Bene 
dick  blithely  ;  and  cat-worrying  was  for  centuries 
as  much  a  recognized  sport  as  cock-fighting,  or  bull 
and  badger  baiting.  It  is  hard  to  forgive  Christo 
pher  North  for  his  apparent  enjoyment  of  this  most 
cruel  of  amusements,  which  he  describes  with  a  zest 
that  does  him  infinite  shame.  In  cock-fights  and 
dog-fights  there  is  fair  play,  and  the  combatants 


PERSECUTION  61 

are  enamoured  of  the  strife  ;  but  the  desperate 
courage  of  a  cat  at  bay  can  ill  excuse  the  brutality 
which  matches  it  against  an  animal  of  many  times 
its  strength.  That  a  good  sportsman  like  Wilson 
should  have  relished  such  a  spectacle,  puts  us  out 
of  conceit  with  humanity. 

In  tracing  the  long  and  bitter  persecution  of  the 
cat,  there  are  two  points  to  be  especially  considered. 
Its  sinister  reputation  —  obtained,  Heaven  knows 
how,  —  as  the  accomplice  of  witches,  and  the  chosen 
emissary  of  the  Fiend  ;  and  the  evil  character  it  won 
for  itself  —  again,  Heaven  knows  how,  — as  an  ani 
mal  equally  perfidious  and  malign.  In  zoological 
mythology,  and  in  the  folk-lore  of  every  land,  it 
figures  darkly,  and  without  esteem.  A  Hindoo 
fable  represents  the  cat  as  living  with  pretended 
austerity  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges.  The  fame 
of  the  new  Saint's  piety,  of  his  long  prayers  and 
rigorous  fasts,  inspires  the  little  birds  and  mice 
with  such  confidence  that  they  gather  around  him 
daily,  and  are  daily  devoured.  From  Alexandria 
we  have  the  story,  retold  by  ^Esop  and  La  Fon 
taine,  of  the  cat  bride  who  leaps  from  her  husband's 
embraces  after  a  scudding  mouse.  In  an  Alsatian 
legend,  a  cat  comes  again  and  again  as  a  nightmare 
to  torment  a  young  joiner.  He  wakens  once  to 
find  her  stealing  into  his  room  through  a  hole  in 
the  chimney-place ;  whereupon  he  stops  up  the  hole, 


62  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

and  nails  one  of  her  paws  to  the  floor.  The  next 
morning  reveals  to  him  a  beautiful  young  woman, 
whom,  with  the  customary  fatuity  of  youth,  he 
promptly  marries.  But,  after  a  year  of  wedded  life, 
the  hole  is  by  some  luckless  chance  uncovered,  and 
the  unfaithful  wife  disappears,  never  to  be  seen 
again. 

Every  country  adds  its  quota  of  dispraise.  The 
story  of  the  nightmare  cat  appears  with  variations 
in  the  folk-lore  of  Germany,  Austria,  and  France. 
Italy  tells  the  fable  of  the  cock  who  wants  to  be 
Pope.  His  friend,  the  cat,  offers  to  accompany  the 
foolish  bird  to  Rome,  and  eats  him  up  comfortably 
on  the  first  day's  journey.  In  a  Bavarian  tale,  the 
cat  marries  the  mouse,  and  sups,  without  a  shadow 
of  remorse,  on  her  small  bridegroom.  Now  and 
then  the  picture  is  brightened  by  some  unexpected 
touch  of  fidelity  or  gratitude,  as  in  the  Afanassicff, 
where  a  peasant  girl  gives  the  witch's  cat  a  piece  of 
ham,  and  is  helped  by  him  generously  in  return. 
There  is  also  a  grisly  Tuscan  legend  of  a  servant 
maid  who  unwittingly  disturbs  the  procession  of 
ghosts,  on  the  terrible  "  Night  of  the  Dead."  When 
the  phantoms  have  swept  noiselessly  past,  she  finds, 
to  her  horror,  that  she  has  a  human  hand  in  her 
basket.  By  the  advice  of  a  wise  woman,  she  keeps 
this  hand  a  year,  and  on  the  following  Feast  of  All 
Souls  she  ventures  once  again  to  stand  in  the  road 


PERSECUTION  63 

at  midnight,  with  the  open  basket  at  her  feet,  and  a 
black  cat  clasped  tightly  in  her  arms.  "  Take  back 
your  hand,  my  masters  ! "  she  pleads ;  and  one  of 
the  ghosts  plucks  it  from  the  basket,  whispering 
grimly,  "  Were  it  not  for  the  thing  you  carry,  you 
should  walk  this  night  by  my  side." 

The  protection  afforded  by  the  cat  in  such  an  in 
stance  was,  after  all,  involuntary,  and  by  no  means 
lessened  her  disrepute.  One  does  not  lightly  love 
a  guardian  so  uncanny.  It  is  probable  also  that 
the  sailors'  wives  of  Scarborough,  who  filched  their 
neighbours'  black  kittens  to  insure  their  husbands' 
safe  return  from  sea,  regarded  these  stolen  prizes 
with  more  respect  than  affection.  Even  in  in 
stances  where  the  animal  has  manifested  its  own 
too  rare  regard,  there  is  often  a  subtle  horror 
associated  with  its  faithfulness.  We  remember 
apprehensively  the  cat  that  loved  the  poisoner, 
Wainewright,  that  would  not  leave  his  side,  and  that 
was  the  sole  witness  of  his  sudden  death. 

From  Lyons  comes  a  dreadful  story  of  crime  and 
retribution.  Towards  the  close  of  the  last  century, 
a  woman  was  found  murdered  in  her  home,  her 
throat  brutally  cut,  her  oaken  chest  rifled  of  its 
scanty  treasures.  She  had  lived  alone,  with  no 
other  companion  than  a  great  brindled  cat,  and  this 
cat  was  now  discovered  by  the  neighbours  huddled 
on  a  cornice  of  the  cupboard,  his  glaring  eyes  fixed 


64  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

full  upon  his  dead  mistress.  No  persuasion  nor 
artifice  could  move  him  from  his  post.  For  two 
whole  days  and  nights  he  crouched  there  like  a 
panther  tense  for  the  spring.  On  the  third  morn 
ing,  a  man,  suspected  of  the  murder,  was  brought 
into  the  room,  when  suddenly,  and  with  horrible 
fury,  the  creature  hurled  himself  upon  the  assassin, 
biting  and  tearing  him  savagely.  Confession  and 
execution  followed  ;  but  of  the  cat's  fate  we  know  no 
thing.  Two  hundred  years  earlier,  his  shrift  would 
have  been  a  short  one.  Not  even  his  avenging 
rage  could  have  saved  him  from  sharing  the  mur 
derer's  grave. 

Innocence  was  no  protection  for  an  outcast  of 
his  fated  race.  Among  the  famous  French  trials 
of  the  seventeenth  century  is  one  of  a  woman  who 
had  strangled  in  cold  blood  several  little  children 
left  by  their  mothers  to  her  care.  For  this  hideous 
crime  she  was  condemned  to  be  hung  in  an  iron 
cage  over  a  slow  fire,  in  company  with  fourteen  cats 
that  had  killed  nobody,  but  that  added  to  the  horror 
of  the  spectacle  by  clawing  fiercely  at  the  murderess 
in  the  throes  of  their  own  death  agony. 

The  page  of  Pussy's  martyrdom  has  been  long  in 
turning.  It  has  been  no  pleasure,  Heaven  knows,  to 
linger  over  it ;  but  when  we  think  of  the  strange  and 
bitter  vicissitudes  through  which  she  has  passed, 
—  this  creature  so  small  and  helpless,  so  timid 


PERSECUTION  65 

and  so  brave,  we  come  to  a  better  understanding  of 
her  complex,  subtle,  and,  to  many  minds,  unlovely 
character.  Self-sufficing  by  nature,  she  has  learned 
distrust  through  centuries  of  suffering.  To  see  a 
cat  run  across  a  street  is  to  understand  that  her 
race  has  for  generation  after  generation  been 
hunted  as  cruelly  as  the  hare.  She  scurries  by 
swiftly  and  fearfully,  as  did  that  poor  ancestress  of 
hers  whom  the  Puritan  soldiers  chased  derisively 
around  the  nave  of  Lichfield  Cathedral,  until  Prince 
Rupert  interrupted  their  pious  sport.  She  knows 
not  now  precisely  what  she  dreads,  —  the  coast 
being  clear,  and  no  boys  nor  dogs  in  sight ;  she 
knew  not  three  hundred  years  ago  why  she  was 
held  responsible  for  theological  errors  in  which  she 
had  no  share.  Catholicism,  Anglicanism,  Puritan 
ism,  —  all  were  alike  indifferent  to  her  ;  yet,  as  we 
have  seen,  she  bore  the  burden  of  man's  devout 
distaste  for  his  neighbour's  creed.  Perhaps  the  last 
authentic  instance  of  feline  persecution  for  con 
science'  sake  was  the  case  of  the  "  ecclesiastical 
cat  "  that  George  Borrow  met  and  rescued  in  Wales. 
The  Vicar  of  Llangollen,  a  most  unpopular  charac 
ter  in  a  stronghold  of  sturdy  dissent,  had  returned 
to  England,  leaving  behind  him  his  black  cat  ;  and 
the  antagonism  formerly  felt  for  the  clergyman  had 
been  transferred  to  the  clerical  pet.  No  house 
holder  would  give  it  food  or  shelter  ;  and,  if  it  slunk 


66 


THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 


trembling  through  the  village  streets,  the  children 
pelted  it  with  stones  and  clots  of  mud.  "There 
never  was  a  cat  so  ill-treated  as  that  poor  Church 
of  England  animal,"  says  Borrow  indignantly  ;  "and 
altogether  on  account  of  the  opinions  which  it  was 
supposed  to  have  imbibed  in  the  house  of  its  late 
master ;  for  I  never  could  learn  that  the  dissenters 
of  Llangollen  were  in  the  habit  of  persecuting  other 
cats.  The  cat  was  a  Church  of  England  cat,  and 
that  was  enough."  Einally  he  was  obliged  to  carry 
away  this  unconscious  and  reluctant  martyr,  and 
to  seek  for  it  an  asylum  in  another  village,  where 
it  was  charitably  received  by  a  young  woman,  who, 
being  herself  an  Anglican,  was  all  the  more  ready 
to  aid  an  oppressed  scion  of  the  Establishment. 

It  is  a  touch  of  comedy  with  which  to  ring  down 
the  curtain  on  Pussy's  tragic  past. 


CHAPTER   IV 
RENAISSANCE 

"  Un  homme  cherissoit  eperdument  sa  chatte  ; 
II  la  trouvoit  mignonne,  et  belle,  et  delicate, 
Qui  miauloit  d'un  ton  fort  doux  : 
II  etoit  plus  fou  que  les  fous." 

THE    close    of   the    sixteenth  century   saw 
western  Europe  undergoing  a  curious  and 
comfortable    change.      Civilization,    with 
her  handmaid,   luxury,  and  her  schoolmaster,  the 
printing-press,  had  seduced  the  souls  of  men.    War 
was  no  longer  a  pastime  for  princes  ;  it  was  a  seri 
ous  and  expensive  business,  frowned  upon  by  finan 
ciers,  and  deferred  as  tediously  as  possible.      Men 
built  themselves  costly  homes,  bought  pictures  and 
tapestries  and  vellum-bound  books,  and  began  slowly 


68  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

to  understand  the  first  rudiments  of  the  noble  art 
of  cooking.  Rich  merchants  enjoyed  the  delights 
of  ostentation,  and  the  great  middle  class  studied 
its  own  comfort  with  commendable  industry.  An 
air  of  well-being  spread  over  the  towns,  and,  in 
favoured  lands  like  England,  extended  itself  even  to 
the  peasantry.  Lazy  and  luke-warm  antagonisms 
supplanted  the  old  fiery  intolerance.  Life  grew 
softer,  sweeter,  replete  with  self-indulgence  and 
self-satisfaction.  All  things  were  working  harmoni 
ously  for  the  reestablish ment  of  the  cat  in  popular 
esteem.  "  The  time  had  arrived,"  says  M.  Havard 
prettily,  "for  her  to  profit  by  new  and  gracious  con 
ditions.  She  became  once  more  the  assiduous  guest 
of  a  courteous  and  companionable  society." 

It  is  in  France  that  we  find  the  first  distinct 
proofs  of  Pussy's  return  to  favour  ;  in  France,  where 
the  persecution  of  the  peasant  had  yielded  to  the 
love  and  pity  of  the  prince,  and  where  she  was  des 
tined,  in  later  years,  to  rule  over  loyal  hearts. 
Indeed,  M.  Gautier  always  affirmed  that  only  a 
Frenchman  could  understand  the  fine  and  subtle 
qualities  of  a  cat.  Nevertheless,  it  was  very  cau 
tiously  that  she  ventured,  with  many  a  soft  and  shy 
intrusion,  to  establish  herself  by  friendly  hearths. 
Centuries  of  cruel  injustice  weighed  upon  her 
spirits,  and  there  were  still  men  who  shrank  with 
abhorrence  from  her  panther-like  beauty  and  grace. 


RENAISSANCE  69 

Henry  the  Third,  who  had  so  much  affection  to 
spare  for  little  dogs,  could  not  look  at  a  cat  without 
fainting  ;  and  Ronsard  confesses  that  he  trembled 
from  head  to  foot  if  he  met  one,  even  at  broad  noon. 

"  Homme  ne  vis,  qui  tant  haisse  au  monde 
Les  Chats  que  moi  d'une  haine  profonde  ; 
Je  hais  leurs  yeux,  leur  fronts,  et  leur  regard." 

Other  and  kinder  voices,  however,  were  raised, 
even  at  this  early  date,  in  defence  of  Pussy's 
charms.  Joachim  du  Bellay  was  the  first  French 
poet  who  sang  the  praises  of  his  cat,  —  the  beau 
tiful  and  amiable  Belaud  ;  and  Montaigne,  in  his 
lazy,  luminous  fashion,  "  without  a  spur  or  even  a 
pat  from  Lady  Vanity,"  wrote  more  than  three 
hundred  years  ago  the  final  word  upon  the  subject ; 
a  word  which  we  have  been  assiduously  repeating 
and  amplifying  —  but  not  improving  —  ever  since. 
"  When  I  play  with  my  cat,"  he  muses  softly,  "who 
knows  whether  she  diverts  herself  with  me,  or  I 
with  her !  \Ve  entertain  one  another  with  mutual 
follies,  struggling  for  a  garter ;  and,  if  I  have  my 
time  to  begin  or  to  refuse,  she  also  has  hers.  It  is 
because  I  cannot  understand  her  language  that  we 
agree  no  better  ;  and  perhaps  she  laughs  at  my  sim 
plicity  in  making  sport  to  amuse  her." 

This  is  the  whole  story  of  human  and  feline  com 
panionship.  This  is  the  whole  nature  of  the  cat, 
accepted  with  philosophy,  and  described  with  care- 


7o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

less  exactitude.  The  independence  of  character, 
the  coldness  of  heart,  the  alternations  of  playful 
ness  and  reserve,  the  courteous  but  temperate 
regard,  granted  on  terms  of  absolute  equality,  — 
these  things  were  understood  and  respected  by  one 
too  wisely  kind  for  intolerance.  "Thus  freely 
speaketh  Montaigne  concerning  cats,"  and  there  is 
little  to  add  to  his  words.  The  world  is  now  so  old 
that  everything  we  would  like  to  say  has  been  said 
long  ago  by  those  who  first  had  the  opportunity. 

Two  proofs  we  find  of  Pussy's  rapid  progress  in 
esteem.  The  French  country  houses  built  between 
the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  cen 
turies  were  all  furnished  with  "  chatieres,"  little 
openings  cut  in  the  doors  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  cat,  who  wandered  in  and  out  of  the  great  chill 
tapestried  rooms  as  her  restless  fancy  prompted 
her.  These  chatieres  indicate  a  careful  study  of 
her  convenience,  yet,  by  the  close  of  the  seven 
teenth  century,  they  had  wholly  disappeared  ;  —  a 
circumstance,  says  M.  Havard,  which  points  to  but 
one  conclusion.  In  her  hundred  years  of  pampered 
domesticity,  the  cat  had  accustomed  mankind  to 
wait  upon  her  pleasure.  There  was  no  longer  any 
need  of  creeping  through  a  hole.  If  she  wanted 
to  come  in  or  go  out, — and  cats  are  perpetually 
wanting  to  do  one  or  the  other,  —  somebody  was 
always  ready  to  get  up  and  open  the  door. 


RENAISSANCE  71 

Richelieu  lent  the  weight  of  his  all-powerful 
example  to  the  fast-growing  passion  for  pussies, 
although  he  limited  his  own  appreciation  to  their 
infant  charms.  He  delighted  in  kittens,  — the  most 
bewitching  playthings  in  the  world,  —  because  they 
amused  him,  and  saved  him  now  and  then  from  the 
bleak  melancholy  which  lay  ever  waiting  for  a  leisure 
hour.  But  though  he  petted  and  fondled  them, 
smiled  at  their  absurdities,  and  humoured  their  love 
of  mischief,  the  grace  of  attachment  to  these  frolic 
some  little  friends  was  denied  him  all  his  life. 
When  they  matured  into  sobriety,  and  put  on  the 
delicate  charm  of  mingled  intelligence  and  caprice, 
he  sent  them  away,  and  gave  their  place  in  his 
cabinet,  and  in  what  was  by  courtesy  called  his 
heart,  to  a  younger  and  gayer  generation. 

Mazarin's  love  for  cats  was  a  more  sincere  and 
steadfast  emotion.  He  cherished  his  beautiful  pets 
all  their  lives,  and  took  pleasure  in  the  supercilious 
ness  of  their  behaviour.  His  attitude  towards  them 
was  one  of  parental  care,  sweetened  and  softened 
by  humility.  Like  Cardinal  Wolsey,  he  reserved 
his  arrogance  for  men,  whose  knees  are  supple  to 
bend  ;  and,  like  Wolsey,  he  found  in  the  companion 
ship  of  his  cat  the  sure  road  to  meekness  and  self- 
abasement.  For  there  is  nothing  so  lowering  to 
one's  self-esteem  as  the  affectionate  contempt  of  a 
beloved  cat. 


72  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

"  Half  gentle  kindliness  and  half  disdain, 
In  salutation  courtly  and  urbane, 
Where  naught  disturbs  the  concord  of  her  reign." 

In  the  brilliant  court  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth, 
Pussy  began  that  series  of  social  triumphs  which 
led,  step  by  step,  to  her  grand  apotheosis  during  the 
following  reign.  Her  beauty,  her  exquisite  pro 
priety  of  demeanour,  her  velvet  footfall,  her  gentle, 
flattering  purr,  her  love  of  luxury  and  repose,  all 
fitted  her  for  the  splendour  of  her  surroundings. 
The  art  with  which  she  veiled  her  mind  and  mo 
tives  was  duly  appreciated  by  courtiers,  forever 
occupied  in  masking  their  own  emotions.  She  fol 
lowed  unconsciously  the  advice  of  the  old  French 
noble  who  sent  his  son  to'  court  with  these  wise 
words  :  "  Seize  everything,  speak  ill  of  nobody,  and 
sit  down  whenever  you  have  the  opportunity." 
"  Gracieuse,  supple  et  perfide,"  she  harmonized  ex 
quisitely  with  a  society  which  reflected  her  dominant 
traits.  Saint  Simon,  in  an  amusing  passage  of  his 
Memoirs,  describes  the  intrusion  of  a  kitten  upon 
one  of  the  Royal  Councils,  and  the  delight  of  the 
little  king,  Louis  the  Fifteenth,  —  a  boy  of  eight,  — 
at  this  pleasant  interruption  of  business.  The  kit 
ten,  with  the  audacity  of  kittenhood,  jumped  first 
upon  the  princely  knee,  and  thence  to  the  council 
table,  where  it  pranced  and  paddled  among  the 
papers,  tolerated  for  the  sake  of  the  pale  tired  child 


RENAISSANCE  73 

who  presided  silently  and  courteously  for  hours 
over  these  tedious  meetings.  Indeed,  Saint  Simon, 
then  fuming  with  indignation  at  the  recent  appoint 
ment  of  new  Councillors,  proposed  the  adoption  of 
the  kitten  as  a  permanent  member  of  the  august 
assembly  ;  —  a  jest  which  seems  to  have  been  con 
sidered  by  himself  and  others  as  exceedingly  bitter 
and  well-timed. 

It  is  to  Francois  Augustin  Paradis  de  Moncrif 
that  we  owe  our  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
most  distinguished  cats  of  this  period.  Scotch  by 
descent,  Parisian  by  birth,  courtier  by  taste  and 
training,  poet,  dramatist,  litterateur,  and  faithful 
lover  of  the  fair  feline  race,  Moncrif,  in  happy 
mood,  conceived  the  idea  of  writing  a  series  of  let 
ters  in  praise  of  cats.  No  one  was  better  fitted  for 
the  task  ;  no  one  could  have  accomplished  it  more 
gracefully.  In  his  pages,  the  names  of  pussies, 
long  since  dead,  live  sweetly  embalmed  in  verse. 
Here  may  we  read  of  Marmalain,  the  beautiful  cat 
of  Mme.  la  Duchesse  du  Maine,  who  inscribed  to 
her  favourite  a  spirited  rondeau,  full  of  tender  flat 
tery,  and  the  fond  conceits  hallowed  by  true  affec 
tion.  When  Marmalain  died,  his  noble  mistress 
was  too  profoundly  dejected  to  compose  a  fitting 
epitaph  ;  so  to  M.  La  Mothe  le  Vayer  was  assigned 
that  honour,  and  his  touching  lines  have  been  sym 
pathetically  translated  by  Mr.  Edmund  Gosse. 


74  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

"  Puss  passer-by,  within  this  simple  tomb 

Lies  one  whose  life  fell  Atropos  hath  shred  ; 
The  happiest  cat  on  earth  hath  heard  his  doom, 

And  sleeps  forever  in  a  marble  bed. 
Alas  !  what  long  delicious  days  I  've  seen  ! 

O  cats  of  Egypt,  my  illustrious  sires, 
You  who  on  altars,  bound  with  garlands  green, 

Have  melted  hearts,  and  kindled  fond  desires; 
Hymns  in  your  praise  were  paid,  and  offerings  too, 

But  I  'm  not  jealous  of  those  rites  divine; 
Since  Ludovisa  loved  me,  fond  and  true, 

Your  ancient  glory  was  less  proud  than  mine. 
To  live,  a  simple  pussy,  by  her  side, 

Was  nobler  far  than  to  be  deified." 

From  Moncrif,  too,  we  learn  of  Tata,  the  cat  of 
Mine,  la  Marquise  de  Montglas ;  and  of  Dom  Gris, 
the  cat  of  Mme.  la  Duchesse  de  Bethune  ;  and  of 
the  incomparable  Menine,  "  morte  vierge  au  prin- 
temps  de  la  vie,"  whom  the  young  Duchesse  de 
Lesdiguieres  cherished  and  lost. 

"  Menine,  qui  jamais  ne  connut  de  Menin, 
Et  qui  fut,  de  son  temps,  des  Chattes  la  Lucrece  ; 
Chatte  pour  tout  le  monde,  et,  pour  les  Chats,  Tigresse." 

When  this  fair  Amazon  died,  Mine,  de  Lesdiguieres 
built  over  the  little  corpse  a  noble  mausoleum,  with 
a  marble  pussy  sleeping  upon  a  marble  pillow, 
whereon  was  engraved  the  following  courtly  epitaph  : 

"  Ci  git  une  Chatte  jolie  : 
Sa  Maitresse  qui  n'aima  rien, 
L'aima  jusque  a  la  folie  ; 
Pourquoi  le  dire?  On  le  voit  bien." 


RENAISSANCE  75 

Still  more  pathetic  is  the  story  of  Mile,  du  Puy's 
music  loving  cat,  who  listened  with  critical  atten 
tion  when  his  mistress  played  upon  the  harp ;  mani 
festing  his  pleasure  if  she  played  well,  and  his  an 
noyance  if  she  blundered.  Mile,  du  Puy  attributed 
her  skill  as  a  harpist  mainly  to  this  cat's  taste  and 
judgment ;  and,  to  mark  her  gratitude  for  so  great 
a  service,  she  bequeathed  him  at  her  death  a  town 
house,  a  country  house,  and  an  income  sufficient  to 
maintain  both  establishments.  Her  family,  grasp 
ing  and  avaricious  as  are  most  kith  and  kin,  con 
tested  the  will,  and  succeeded,  after  a  long  struggle 
in  the  courts,  in  wresting  from  the  legatee  an  estate 
which,  by  every  law  of  justice  and  morality,  was  his, 
and  his  alone. 

Of  all  the  cats,  however,  whom  Moncrif  delighted 
to  applaud,  none  fills  so  proud  a  place  in  his  letters, 
and  in  our  regard,  as  Grisette,  the  beloved  pet  of 
Mme.  Deshoullieres. 

"  Deshoullieres  cares  not  for  the  smart 

Her  bright  eyes  cause,  disdainful  hussy  ! 
But,  like  a  mouse,  her  idle  heart 
Is  captured  by  a  pussy." 

Grisette  was  a  cat  of  parts.  Her  manners  were 
marked  by  gentle  distinction ;  and  to  her  rare 
beauty  were  added  intelligence,  and  a  somewhat 
chilling  sweetness  of  character.  She  inspired  af 
fection  in  all  whom  she  honoured  with  her  notice ; 


76  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

and  we  may  read  page  after  page  of  impassioned 
verse  addressed  to  her  by  the  wits  and  poets  of 
her  day,  who  veiled  their  own  sentiments  thinly 
under  the  disguise  of  despairing  feline  suitors. 
There  seems  to  have  been  little  coquetry  in  Gri- 
sette.  She  granted  few  favours ;  but  preserved 
that  soft  and  courteous  indifference,  that  exquisite 
delicacy  and  tact,  which  compelled  respect  as  well 
as  adoration.  Yet  she  too  had  a  charming  poetic 
gift,  —  Mme.  Deshoullieres  acting  as  her  amanu 
ensis,  —  and  nothing  can  be  prettier  than  her  shy 
admission  to  Tata  that  his  gallantry  and  valour 
made  her  little  heart  beat  fast ;  or  than  these  lines 
which  defy  translation,  but  which  may  be  accepted 
as  the  highest  standard  of  absolute  good-breeding 
for  a  cat.  They  should  be  hung,  in  their  sweet  old 
French,  on  the  walls  of  every  kitten  nursery  in  the 
world. 

"  S9avez-vous  de  quel  air  discret  et  raisonnable 
J'ay  ma  part  des  bons  repas  ? 
J'appuye  discretement  ma  patte  sur  les  bras 
De  ceux  qui  sont  assis  a  table. 
Si  leur  faim  est  inexorable, 
Ma  faim  ne  se  rebute  pas ; 
Et  d'un  air  toujours  agreable, 
Je  tire  du  moins  charitable 
Les  morceaux  les  plus  delicats." 

It  is  melancholy  to  relate  that  Moncrif  was  pelted 
with  ridicule  by  the  satirists  of  his  day  because  of 


RENAISSANCE  77 

this  pleasant  "  Histoire  des  Chats  ;  "  and  that,  after 
his  election  to  the  French  Academy,  he  had  the 
weakness  to  withdraw  the  book  from  circulation. 
Solid  and  serious  scholars,  who  had  inaugurated 
what  M.  Champfleury  calls  "  the  grievous  system 
of  professional  literature,"  pretended  to  believe  that 
cats  were  unworthy  of  an  Academician's  momen 
tous  regard.  Wits  made  merry  at  the  expense  of 
the  "  historiogriff e ;  "  and  false  friends,  like  Vol 
taire,  flattered  the  poor  poet  out  of  his  reason,  and 
then  laughed  sourly  at  the  simplicity  which  credited 
men  with  truth.  Upon  the  awful  and  august  occa 
sion  of  Moncrif's  maiden  speech,  some  wag,  thrill 
ing  with  joy  at  his  own  brilliant  jest,  turned  a  cat 
loose  in  the  room  ;  and  when  the  frightened  crea 
ture  began  to  mew,  the  Academicians  laughed  and 
mewed  in  chorus,  to  the  painful  confusion  of  the 
newly  elected. — "  Rira  mieux  qui  rira  derniere." 
To-day,  when  tomes  of  oppressive  erudition  lie 
swathed  in  shrouds  of  dust ;  when  names  once 
honoured  are  well-nigh  forgotten ;  when  Moncrif's 
other  writings  —  plays,  and  poems,  and  pastorals 
—  have  slipped  unobtrusively  into  oblivion ;  this 
"  gravely  frivolous  "  little  book  still  gains  a  hear 
ing  for  its  author.  No  one  who  truly  loves  cats 
can  afford  to  neglect  so  interesting  a  period  in  their 
history,  nor  so  veracious  and  admirable  an  histo 
rian. 


78  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

If  Moncrif  be  the  first  genuine  chronicler,  the 
Froissart  of  cats,  La  Fontaine,  says  M.  Feuillet  de 
Conches,  is  their  Homer.  "  He  painted  them,  as 
he  studied  them,  under  all  aspects,  and  with  a  mas 
ter's  skill."  But  that  he  painted  them  unkindly  is 
too  evident  for  denial.  He  borrowed  Rodilardus 
from  Rabelais,  and  turned  that  feline  Samson  into 
a  cruel  and  insatiable  tyrant, 

"  L'Attila,  le  fleau  des  rats," 

who  wages  day  and  night  a  relentless  war  of  ex 
termination. 

"  Et  Rodilard  passoit,  chez  la  gent  miserable, 
Non  pour  un  chat,  mais  pour  un  diable." 

This  "  Alexander  of  cats  "  is  as  brave  as  he  is 
merciless,  —  cowardice  has  never  been  a  cattish 
trait,  —  but  he  is  as  false  and  malicious  as  he  is 
brave.  He  sows  the  seeds  of  dissension  between 
other  animals,  and  laughs  in  his  sleeve  at  their  stu 
pidity.  He  refuses  pity  to  the  mouseling  in  these 
terrible  words,  "  Cats  know  not  how  to  pardon." 
He  is  a  prince  of  hypocrites,  and,  like  the  hermit 
of  the  Ganges,  affects  piety,  and  the  spirit  of  uni 
versal  brotherhood.  When  the  foolish  young  rab 
bit  quarrels  with  the  weasel,  she  consents  to  abide 
by  the  just  decision  of  Raminagrobis,  a  saintly  puss 
of  ascetic  habits  and  incorruptible  morals  ;  a  "chate- 
mite,"  who,  sighing  that  he  is  old  and  deaf,  per- 


RENAISSANCE  79 

suacles  the  disputants  to  approach  within  reach  of 
his  murderous  claws.  Where  /Esop  treats  Pussy 
with  some  kindness,  as  in  the  fable  of  "  The  Cat 
and  the  Fox,"  La  Fontaine  is  at  pains  to  insist  that 
this  pair  of  pilgrims  are  pious  frauds,  arch-dissem 
blers,  who  compensate  themselves  with  many  a 
strangled  chicken  and  stolen  cheese  for  the  hard 
ships  of  their  pilgrimage.  He  sums  up  feline  char 
acteristics  in  the  surpassing  cynicism  of  the  old 
rat's  scornful  speech ;  "  No  benefit  can  win  grati 
tude  from  a  cat." 

And  this  defamer,  we  are  bidden  to  believe,  sings 
Homerically  of  the  race  which  he  defames  ?  What 
if  his  good  humour  be  ever  unimpaired,  and  if  his 
comfortable  laugh  reminds  us  now  and  then  that 
he,  for  his  part,  does  not  seriously  object  to  such 
amazing  scampishness  ?  We  who  are  forced  to  ob 
ject,  —  as  living  in  a  sternly  moral  age,  —  wish  that 
a  little  mercy,  or  even  a  little  justice,  had  tempered 
these  gay  calumnies  which  will  outlive  truth  itself. 
For  so  great  is  La  Fontaine's  charm,  so  felicitous 
is  every  finely  chosen  phrase,  that  the  beauty  of 
his  verse  wins  permanence  for  his  most  scandalous 
characterizations.  He  admits  the  seductive  quali 
ties  of  the  cat.  Like  the  amorous  young  Greek  of 
the  fable,  he  finds  her 

"mignonne,  et  belle,  et  delicate," 

inspiring  foolish  and  excessive  affection,  to  which 


8o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

she  returns  a  selfish  indifference.  He  describes 
exquisitely  and  precisely  the  "gentle  hypocrite," 
with  her  irreproachable  modesty  of  demeanour,  her 
soft  sleek  fur,  her  noiseless  step,  her  air  of  min 
gled  graciousness  and  dignity,  her  sleepy  eyes  half 
shut,  lest  their  gleam  should  betray  the  tigerish 
soul  within.  This  is  the  cat  of  La  Fontaine,  an 
unworthy  picture,  drawn  with  consummate  skill. 
France  accepted  her  without  shadow  of  protest, 
granting  to  her  courage,  her  cunning,  and  her  love 
liness,  pardon  for  many  sins.  After  all,  these  amia 
ble  critics  may  have  urged,  we  forgive  Achilles 
much,  because  he  is  brave ;  Odysseus  more,  be 
cause  he  is  acute ;  Helen  most  of  all,  because  she 
is  beautiful.  Why  then  pass  priggish  judgment 
upon  a  creature  brave  as  Achilles,  acute  as  Odys 
seus,  beautiful  as  Helen  ?  She  has  the  qualities  of 
her  defects  ;  and  these  things  are  as  the  wise  gods 
ordain.  We  cannot  mould  her  to  our  liking  ;  Mon 
taigne  has  told  us  so.  She  will  not  strive  for  our 
approval,  any  more  than  she  will  toil  for  our  con 
venience.  "  Libertas  sine  Lahore."  She  walks  her 
chosen  path  by  our  side ;  but  our  ways  are  not  her 
ways,  our  influence  does  not  remotely  reach  her. 
Let  us  abandon  the  office  of  critic,  where  there  is 
no  mutual  standard  for  criticism. 

And  so  it  was  that  Mme.  la  Duchesse  de  Bouillon 
—  true  lover  of  cats  and  their  most  tender  friend  — 


RENAISSANCE 


81 


begged  La  Fontaine  to  give  her  a  copy  of  every 
fable  in  which  her  favourite  animal  played  its  un 
grateful  part.  These  precious  manuscripts,  after 
being  lost  for  a  century  and  more,  were  discovered 
by  M.  Feuillet  de  Conches,  stored  away  in  a  lumber 
room  with  other  interesting  and  valuable  papers  of 
the  de  Bouillon  family,  whose  estate  had  passed 
into  alien  hands,  and  whose  long-prized  treasures 
had  been  thrust  into  dusty  oblivion. 


CHAPTER   V 
THE   CAT   OF   ALBION 

"  Pussy-cat,  Pussy-cat, 

Where  have  you  been  ?  " 
"  I  've  been  to  London, 

To  look  at  the  Queen." 

THIS   beaste  is   called  a  Musion,  for  that 
he   is   enimie  to  Myse  and  Rattes.     He 
is  slye  and  wittie,  and  seeth  so  sharpely 
that  he  overcommeth  darknes  of  the  nighte  by  the 
shyninge  lyghte  of  his  eyne.     In  shape  of  bodye  he 
is  lyke  unto  a  Leoparde,  and  hathe  a  great  mouthe. 


THE  CAT  OF  ALBION  83 

He  dothe  delight  that  he  enjoyeth  his  libertye ;  and 
in  his  youthe  he  is  swifte,  plyante  and  merrie.  He 
maketh  a  rufull  noyse  and  a  gastefull  when  he  pro- 
fereth  to  fighte  with  an  other.  He  is  a  cruell  beaste 
when  he  is  wilde,  and  falleth  on  his  owne  feete  from 
most  high  places,  and  seldom  is  hurt  therewith. 
When  he  hath  a  fayre  skinne,  he  is,  as  it  were, 
prowde  thereof,  and  then  he  goeth  faste  aboute  to 
be  scene." 

So  writes  John  Bossewell,  in  his  "  Workes  of 
Armorie,"  1597;  and  the  vigour  and  accuracy  of 
the  description  shame  our  feebler  pens.  Bosse 
well,  it  is  true,  found  part  of  this  admirable  portrait 
in  a  still  older  book,  translated  from  the  Latin  by 
Thomas  Berthlet,  and  printed  by  Wynkyn  de  Worde 
in  1498.  In  its  curious  pages,  the  wild  cat  of  Great 
Britain  and  his  tamer  brother  are  characterized  with 
minute  fidelity,  the  writer  dwelling  upon  their  close 
resemblance  to  the  leopard,  their  swiftness,  grace, 
and  savage  playfulness. 

"  The  Cat  is  surely  most  like  to  the  Leoparde, 
and  hathe  a  great  mouthe,  and  sharp  teeth,  and  a 
long  tongue,  plyante,  thin  and  subtle.  He  lappeth 
therewith  when  he  drinketh,  as  other  beastes  do 
that  have  the  nether  lip  shorter  than  the  over ;  for, 
by  cause  of  unevenness  of  lips,  such  beastes  suck 
not  in  drinking,  but  lap  and  lick,  as  Aristotle  saith, 
and  Plinius  also.  He  is  a  swifte  and  merye  beaste 


84  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

in  youthe,  and  leapeth,  and  riseth  on  all  things  that 
are  tofore  him  ;  and  is  led  by  a  straw,  and  playeth 
therewith,  and  is  a  righte  heavye  beaste  in  age,  and 
full  sleepye,  and  lyeth  slyly  in  waite  for  Mice ;  and 
is  ware  where  they  bene  more  by  smell  than  by 
sighte,  and  hunteth,  and  riseth  on  them  in  privy 
places.  And  when  he  taketh  a  Mouse,  he  playeth 
therewith,  and  eateth  him  after  the  play.  He  is  a 
cruell  beaste  when  he  is  wilde,  and  dwelleth  in 
woods,  and  hunteth  there  small  beastes  as  conies 
and  hares." 

There  is  something  in  the  bald  simplicity  of  the 
statement,  "  And  when  he  taketh  a  Mouse,  he  play 
eth  therewith,  and  eateth  him  after  the  play,"  which 
makes  us  wince.  Why  is  the  cat's  pathway  trailed 
with  blood  ?  We  have  grown  so  accustomed  to  the 
little  tragedy  which  is  being  acted  over  and  over 
again  under  our  roofs,  that  its  grimness  fails  to 
move  our  hearts  to  pity.  Moreover,  apart  from  the 
fact  that  the  mouse  enjoys  an  evil  reputation  as  an 
admittedly  undesirable  tenant,  it  is  not  the  habit  of 
mankind  to  concern  itself  deeply  over  the  suffer 
ings  of  small  creatures.  An  animal  must  approach 
nearer  to  our  own  bulk  to  make  its  pain  respectable. 
Only  when  Shakespeare  uses  this  trivial  incident  as 
an  illustration  of  mortal  anguish,  do  we  recognize 
its  horror. 

"  Yet,  foul  night-waking  cat,  he  doth  but  dally, 
While  in  his  holdfast  foot  the  weak  mouse  panteth." 


THE  CAT  OF  ALBION  85 

Maister  Salmon,  who  published  his  "  Compleat 
English  Physician,"  in  1693,  describes  "Catus,  the 
Cat,"  with  careful  minuteness,  and  with  an  ad 
miration  founded  apparently  on  the  strange  cures 
wrought  by  a  judicious  use  of  its  brains.  "  As  to 
its  Eyes,"  he  continues  gravely,  "  Authors  say  that 
they  shine  in  the  Night ;  and  see  better  at  the  full, 
and  more  dimly  at  the  change  of  the  Moon.  Also 
that  the  Cat  doth  vary  his  Eyes  with  the  Sun  ;  the 
Pupil  being  round  at  Sunrise,  long  towards  Noon, 
and  not  to  be  seen  at  all  at  Night,  but  the  whole 
Eye  shining  in  the  darkness.  These  appearances 
of  the  Cat's  Eyes,  I  am  sure  are  true ;  but  whether 
they  answer  to  the  times  of  the  Day,  I  have  never 
observed.  It  is  a  crafty,  subtle,  watchful  Crea 
ture,  very  loving  and  familiar  with  Mankind ;  but 
the  mortal  Enemy  of  the  Rat,  Mouse,  and  every 
sort  of  Bird,  which  it  seizes  on  as  its  Prey.  Its 
flesh  is  not  generally  eaten,  yet  in  some  Countries 
is  esteemed  an  excellent  dish." 

The  cat's  eyes  seem  to  have  been  used  as  a  sort 
of  rude  clock  for  centuries  in  the  East,  where  peo 
ple  have  few  household  utensils,  and  plenty  of  lei 
sure  for  observation.  Pere  Hue  tells  us  that,  when 
travelling  in  the  interior  of  China,  he  asked  a  pea 
sant  boy,  who  was  leading  a  buffalo  to  graze,  if  it 
were  yet  noon.  The  child  glanced  first  at  the  sky, 
where  the  sun  was  hidden  by  driving  clouds  ;  and, 


86  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

reading  there  no  answer  to  the  question,  he  ran 
back  to  the  house,  reappearing  in  a  moment  with 
a  large  cat  in  his  arms.  Pushing  open  its  eyelids 
with  his  forefinger, — an  operation  to  which  the 
animal  submitted  with  a  patience  evidently  born  of 
long  habitude,  —  he  said  carelessly,  "  Look,  it  wants 
still  an  hour  and  more  to  noon."  When  the  mis 
sionary  expressed  his  amazement  at  this  primitive 
time-piece,  other  natives  explained  to  him  that  on 
cloudy  days  their  cats  always  served  them  as  dials. 
"  They  pointed  out  that  the  pupils  of  the  creature's 
eyes  grew  gradually  narrower  until  noon,  when  they 
were  little  more  than  thin  perpendicular  lines,  and 
that  with  the  descent  of  the  sun  began  their  slow 
expansion." 

It  was  the  waxing  and  waning  of  the  light  in 
Pussy's  beautiful  eyes,  with  the  waxing  and  wan 
ing  of  the  day,  which  gave  her,  centuries  before, 
her  proud  preeminence  in  the  great  Sun-temple  of 
Heliopolis. 

Maister  Salmon  is  the  only  English  writer  who 
has  a  word  to  say  on  this  subject,  and  even  he  con 
fesses  he  has  never  taken  the  trouble  to  make  any 
observations  for  himself.  The  sole  use  of  the  cat 
in  England  was  to  hunt  mice  and  rats ;  and  while 
there  are  constant  allusions  in  early  English  letters 
to  her  vigilance  and  prowess,  while  she  figures  in 
proverbs,  and  old  saws,  and  rude  rhymes,  it  is  sel- 


THE  CAT  OF  ALBION  87 

dom  that  a  flattering  or  grateful  word  is  spoken. 
No  pretty  compliments  here  ;  no  charming  allusions 
to  her  beauty  and  distinction,  as  in  those  flowers 
of  Gallic  verse.  Chaucer,  indeed,  aptly  compares 
Pussy,  snug  and  sleek  in  her  soft  fur,  to  a  beneficed 
Canon  ;  but  Chaucer  had  no  place  in  his  heart  for 
cats.  Perhaps  his  passionate  love  for  birds  preju 
diced  him  against  their  destroyer ;  perhaps  his 
frankly  masculine  temperament  debarred  him  from 
sympathy  with  a  creature  so  subtle  and  seductive. 
He  reproaches  her  bitterly  because  her  passion  for 
the  chase  exceeds  all  other  passions  in  her  breast  ; 
and  this  is  a  just  arraignment,  for  the  cat  which  is, 
by  courtesy,  called  domestic,  is  as  pure  a  beast  of 
prey  as  its  wild  cousin  of  the  woods  and  mountains. 
He  also  recognizes  her  beauty,  but  with  a  grudging 
slur,  —  the  slur  which  masculinity  has,  during  all 
ages,  delighted  to  cast  upon  femininity ;  and  in 
which  femininity  has,  during  all  ages,  failed  to  feel 
the  sting. 

"  For  whoso  wolde  senge  a  cattes  skyn, 
Thenne  wolde  the  cat  wel  dwellen  in  hir  in ; 
And  if  the  cattes  skyn  be  slyk  and  gay, 
She  wol  nat  dwelle  in  house  half  a  day. 
But  forth  she  wol,  er  any  day  be  dawed, 
To  shewe  hir  skyn,  and  goon  a-caterwawed." 

It  may  be  remembered  that  John  Bossewell,  honest 
man,  assigns  the  same  trait  to  the  male  cat,  — 


88  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

wild  or  tame,  —  acknowledging  it  possibly  as  a 
universal  and  most  excellent  characteristic  of  all 
sentient  creatures.  "  When  he  hath  a  fayre  skinne, 
he  is,  as  it  were,  prowde  thereof,  and  then  he  goeth 
faste  aboute  to  be  scene." 

Other  sins,  more  flagrant  than  vanity,  were  laid 
at  Pussy's  doors.  Not  only  was  she  the  "mortal 
Enemy "  of  rats  and  mice,  which  won  her  chill 
esteem  from  selfish  utilitarians  ;  but,  like  a  true  free 
booter,  she  waged  war  with  the  same  frank  enjoy 
ment  upon  "  every  sort  of  Bird,"  as  Maister  Salmon 
sadly  confesses  ;  making  no  nice  distinction  between 
the  feathered  nestling  of  the  woods  and  her  mas 
ter's  treasured  possessions.  Farmers'  wives  were 
wont  to  fasten  little  sprigs  of  rue  beneath  the  wings 
of  their  chicks  and  ducklings,  in  the  belief  that  the 
cat's  distaste  for  this  herb  of  grace  would  save  the 
barnyard  innocents.  The  marauding  spirit  that  sent 
her  pillaging  the  cupboard,  and  revelling  in  the 
dairy,  prompted  her  patient  and  sinister  ambush 
beneath  the  swinging  wicker  cage,  wherein  piped  a 
tame  bullfinch  or  spiritless  captive  lark.  The  Greek 
Agathias,  passionately  lamenting  the  death  of  his  pet 
partridge  in  the  cat's  cruel  claws,  is  outclamoured 
by  John  Skelton,  who,  for  hundreds  of  lines  in 
"The  Boke  of  Phylyp  Sparowe,"  bewails  the  fate  of 
that  insignificant  bird,  and  hurls  —  in  fair  Margery's 
name  —  breathless  and  terrible  denunciations  at  its 
destroyer. 


THE  CAT  OF  ALBION  89 

"  Gyb,  our  cat  savage, 
That  in  a  furyous  rage 
Caught  Phylyp  by  the  head, 
And  slew  him  there  starke  dead." 

Never  was  grief  voiced  with  such  sweet  and  shrill 
absurdity.  Never  was  such  a  formidable  array  of 
curses  launched  at  the  head  of  any  murderer,  since 
murders  were  known  to  man. 

"  That  vengeaunce  I  aske  and  crye, 
By  way  of  exclamacyon, 
On  all  the  whole  nacyon 
Of  cattes  wylde  and  tame ; 
God  send  them  sorowe  and  shame  1 
That  cat  especyally 
That  slew  so  cruelly 
My  lytell  pretty  sparowe 
That  I  brought  up  at  Carowe. 

O  cat  of  churlyshe  kynde, 
The  Fynde  was  in  thy  minde 
When  thou  my  byrde  untwynde  ! 
I  would  thou  haddest  ben  blynde ! 
The  leopardes  savage, 
The  lyons  in  theyr  rage, 
Myght  catche  thee  in  theyr  pawes  ! 
And  gnawe  thee  in  theyr  jawes  ! 
The  serpentes  of  Lybany 
Myght  stynge  thee  venymously ! 
The  dragones  with  theyr  tonges 
Myght  poyson  thy  lyver  and  longes  ! 
The  mantycors  of  the  montaynes 
Myght  fede  them  on  thy  braynes ! 
Melanchates,  that  hounde 
That  plucked  Actaeon  to  the  grounde, 


9o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Gave  hym  his  mortall  wounde, 
Chaunged  to  a  dere, 
The  story  doth  appere, 
Was  chaunged  to  an  harte  : 
So  thou,  foule  cat  that  thou  arte, 
The  selfe  same  hounde 
Myght  thee  confounde, 
That  his  owne  lord  bote, 
Myght  byte  asondre  thy  throte  ! 

Of  Inde  the  gredy  grypes 
Myght  tere  out  all  thy  trypes  ! 
Of  Arcady  the  beares 
Myght  plucke  awaye  thyne  eares ! 
The  wylde  wolfe  Lycaon 
Byte  asondre  thy  backe  bone  ! 
Of  Ethna  the  brennynge  hyll, 
That  day  and  nyghte  brenneth  styl, 
Set  in  thy  tayle  a  blase, 
That  all  the  world  may  gase 
And  wonder  upon  thee  ! 
From  Ocyan  the  greate  sea 
Unto  the  Isles  of  Orchady  ; 
From  Tyllbery  ferry 
To  the  playne  of  Salysbery ! 
So  trayterously  my  byrde  to  kyll, 
That  never  ought  thee  evyll  wyll !  " 

Before  this  tremendous  anathema  maranatka,  all 
ordinary  cursing,  the  mere  "current  compliments 
of  theological  parting,"  soften  into  insignificance. 
Was  there  ever  such  a  wanton  waste  of  wrath  ! 
Was  ever  a  trivial  sin  so  exalted  by  punishment ! 
Not  only  is  poor  Gyb  doomed  to  ignite  his  tail  at 

Etna,  and 

"like  another  Helen," 


THE  CAT  OF  ALBION  91 

fire  Salisbury  plain  with  his  blazing  torch  ;  but  the 
Arcadian  bears,  (she-bears  probably,  like  Elisha's 
terrible  allies),  the  "  serpentes  of  Lybany,"  dragons, 
lions,  leopards,  and  those  formidable 

"mantycors  of  the  montaynes," 

— •  whatever  they  may  be  —  are  all  summoned  from 
the  ordinary  business  of  their  lives  to  avenge  a 
sparrow's  death  upon  a  cat. 

"  These  vylanous  false  cattes 
Were  made  for  myse  and  rattes, 
And  not  for  byrdes  smalle ;  " 

explains  Phylyp's  mistress  between  her  sobs  ;  but 
this  is  precisely  the  point  upon  which  she  and  Gyb 
would  naturally  take  issue.  No  broad-minded  cat 
recognizes  such  trivial  classifications. 

Gilbert,  abbreviated  to  Gyb  or  Gib,  was  the  com 
mon  name  for  a  male  cat  in  Skelton's  England,  just 
as  Thomas  or  Tom  is  the  common  name  to-day. 
On  the  continent,  Tybalt  or  Tybert  —  familiar  to 
all  readers  of  "  Reineke  Fuchs  "  -  became,  by  the 
same  process  of  contraction,  Tyb  or  Tib.  Mercutio, 
in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  insults  Tybalt  on  this  easy 
score  :  — 

"  Tybalt,  you  rat-catcher,  will  you  walk  ? 
Tybalt.   What  wouldst  thou  have  with  me  ? 
Mercutio.   Good  king  of  cats,  nothing  but  one  of  your  nine  lives." 

The  term  gib  cat  or  gil  cat  came  in  time  to  sig 
nify  an  old  male,  well  past  the  heyday  of  his  prime. 


92  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

"  I  am  as  melancholy  as  a  gib  cat," 

sighs  Falstaff  wearily.  Grimalkin,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  less  a  domestic  than  a  poetical  appellation, 
given  often  to  Pussy  in  literature,  but  never  in 
friendly  fireside  intercourse.  John  Philips  deemed 
the  word  sufficiently  Miltonic  to  fit  his  parody, 
"The  Splendid  Shilling,"  published  in  1703. 

"  Grimalkin,  to  Domestick  Vermin  sworn 
An  everlasting  Foe,  with  watchful  Eye 
Lies  nightly  brooding  o'er  a  chinky  Gap, 
Protending  her  fell  Claws,  to  thoughtless  Mice 
Sure  Ruin." 

Through  long  association  with  witchcraft  —  witches' 
cats  seem  to  have  been  constantly  christened  Grim 
alkin  —  the  name  became  deservedly  unpopular. 

"  Grimalkin,  the  foul  Fiend's  cat, 
Grimalkin,  the  witche's  brat." 

runs  an  ancient  and  unsavoury  rhyme,  —  one  of  a 
number  which  served  to  blacken  an  innocent  ani 
mal's  reputation. 

From  many  an  old  adage,  from  many  a  proverb 
and  rude  snatch  of  rhyme,  we  may  judge  for  our 
selves  how  Pussy  gradually,  and  with  soft  insist 
ence,  won  her  place  by  cottage  hearth,  and  in  the 
snug  English  farm.  Her  characteristics  were  so 
marked,  her  habits  so  unalterable,  that  she  came 
in  time  to  stand  for  certain  qualities,  and  to  serve 
as  their  homely  illustration.  Her  chimney-corner 


THE  CAT  OF  ALBION  93 

life  made  her,  more  than  any  other  animal,  the  tar 
get  for  hourly  observation  ;  and  the  sagacity  of  our 
forefathers  wove  from  her  wise  and  wicked  ways 
some  shrewd  lessons  for  their  own  enlightenment. 
"  A  blate  cat  makes  a  proud  mouse,"  and  "  A  half 
penny  cat  may  look  at  a  king,"  are  among  the  pith- 
iest  of  Scotch  proverbs.  "The  cat  with  a  straw 
tail  keeps  away  from  the  fire,"  is  English.  "  Care 
killed  a  cat,"  —originally  "Care  clammed  a  cat," 
comes  from  Herefordshire.  "  The  cat  sees  through 
shut  lids,"  and  "  Honest  as  the  cat  when  the  meat 
is  out  of  reach,"  reflect  more  credit  upon  Pussy's 
acuteness  than  upon  her  rectitude.  "  No  playing 
with  a  straw  before  an  old  cat,"  is  John  Heywood's 
contribution  in  1562,  and  so  is  the  well-known 
couplet, 

"  Fain  would  the  cat  fish  cat, 
But  she  is  loth  to  wet  her  feet ;  " 

while  the  still  more  familiar  nursery  rhyme, 

"  When  the  cat  is  away, 
The  mice  may  play  ;  " 

was  written  by  Thomas  Hey  wood  in  1607.  Even 
George  Herbert  did  not  disdain  to  borrow  an  illus 
tration  from  this  ever  useful  animal.  "  Send  not 
the  cat  for  lard,"  is  his  method  of  saying,  Lead 
not  your  neighbour  into  temptation. 

Mr.   Harrison  Weir  has  compiled  a  curious  and 
valuable  glossary  of  words  and  idioms  which  owe 


94  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

their  derivation  to  the  cat  ;  such  as  "  cat-handed," 

a  Devonshire  term  for  awkward ;  "  a  cat's  walk," 

which  in  Cornwall  signifies  a  little  walk  near  home  ; 

"cat-lap,"    very  weak   tea   or   broth,    fit    only   for 

Pussy's   food;    "cat-nap,"  the    lightest  of   dozes; 

"cat-call," 

"  Sound,  sound,  ye  viols  ;  be  the  cat-call  dumb." 

"  caterwauling," 

"  What  a  caterwauling  do  you  keep  here  !  " 

and  the  familiar  "cat's-paw,"  "  cat's-eye,"  and  "cat 
o'  nine  tails."  Allusions  to  the  animal's  nine  lives 
—  Heaven  knows  she  needed  them  !  — are  frequent 
in  early  English  plays.  "  'T  is  a  pity  you  had  not 
ten  lives,  — a  cat's  and  your  own,"  says  Jonson  in 
"  Every  Man  in  His  Humour  ;  "  and  Middleton  in 
"Blurt,  Master  Constable,"  makes  the  off-hand  as 
sertion  that  cats  "have  nine  lives  apiece,  like  a 
woman." 

Some  of  the  most  common  expressions  seem 
meaningless  enough,  yet  have  been  handed  down 
from  parent  to  child  for  endless  generations,  until 
they  have  become  a  tradition  in  every  nursery. 
How  often  has  the  word  "she  "  been  checked  upon 
our  infant  lips  by  the  certainty  of  hearing  for  the 
fiftieth  time  that  "she"  is  the  "cat's  mother?" 
Little  English  children,  however,  especially  if  they 
be  bred  in  Norfolk,  are  told  that  "  she "  is  the 


THE  CAT  OF  ALBION  95 

"  cat's  aunt ;  "  while  a  foolish  boy  who  grins  and 
stammers  instead  of  answering  promptly  is  called 
-  Oh  !  stinging  reproach  !  —  the  "  cat's  uncle." 
There  is  even  a  name  to  denote  this  feline  con 
sanguinity,  —  Grinagog,  which  sounds  like  the  very 
embodiment  of  contempt. 

The  wild-cat,  that  splendid  and  courageous  beast 
which  roamed  the  English  woods  in  savage  free 
dom,  was  hunted  both  for  the  beauty  of  its  skin, 
and  because,  though  small  in  stature,  its  strength 
and  fierceness  made  it  a  noble  quarry.  In  those 
old  rough  clays  the  chase  was  a  dangerous  diver 
sion,  and  men  loved  it  for  the  peril  that  it  brought. 
Richard  the  Second  granted  to  the  Abbot  of  Peter 
borough,  who  was  a  man  of  mettle,  a  license  to 
hunt  wild  cats  in  the  royal  forest.  In  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher's  "  Scornful  Lady,"  we  find  this  allu 
sion  to  the  sport :  — 

"  Bring  out  the  cat-hounds  ;  I  '11  make  you  take  a  tree." 

and  Shakespeare  does  infinite  honour  to  the  animal's 
spirit  when  he  likens  Katharine  to  one,  in  "  Taming 
of  the  Shrew." 

"  But  will  you  woo  this  wild-cat  ?  " 

It  was  the  admitted  courage  of  cats,  both  wild 
and  tame,  which  gave  them  their  conspicuous  place 
in  heraldry,  ever  since  the  days  when  Roman  le 
gions  and  Vandal  hordes  carried  their  cat  banners 


96  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

streaming  on  the  wind.  The  ancient  Burgundians 
adopted  the  cat  as  their  heraldic  device,  to  intimate 
an  abhorrence  of  servitude ;  and  Clotilde,  the  fair 
and  saintly  Burgundian  wife  of  Clovis,  had  blazoned 
on  her  armorial  bearings  a  cat  sable  springing  at  a 
mouse.  The  same  symbol  served  many  a  noble 
house.  The  Katzen  family  carried  an  azure  shield, 
with  a  cat  argent  holding  a  rat.  The  Chetaldie 
family  of  Limoges  carried  two  cats  argent  on  an 
azure  shield.  The  princely  Delia  Gatta  of  Naples 
bore  a  cat  —  a  splendid  cat  couchant  —  on  their 
crest ;  and  in  Scotland  the  well-known  cognizance 
of  the  Clan  Chattan  was  a  wild-cat,  with  the  signifi 
cant  motto,  "Touch  not  the  cat  but  "  (i.  c.  without) 
"  the  glove."  Of  a  truth,  Cervantes  strayed  not  so 
far  into  extravagance  when  he  wrote  of  the  "  ever 
victorious  and  never  vanquished  "  Timonel  of  Car- 
cajona,  Prince  of  New  Biscay,  who  carried  upon 
his  shield  a  golden  cat,  with  the  expressive  motto, 
"  Mian,"  in  honour  of  his  lady,  the  beautiful  and 
peerless  Miaulina,  daughter  of  the  great  Alfeniquen 
of  the  Algarve. 

More  peaceful  memories  cling  around  the  an 
cient  sign-boards,  on  which  Pussy  was  ever  a  favour 
ite  figure.  "  La  Maison  du  CJiat  qui  Pelote"  and 
"  La  Maison  du  CJiat  qui  Pcclie"  commended 
themselves  especially  to  French  merchants ;  and 
M.  Champfleury  sadly  regrets  the  disappearance  of 


THE  CAT  OF  ALBION  97 

"  Le  Cliat  ,Noir"  once  so  familiar  above  restaurants 
and  bakeries.  The  English  "  Cat  and  Fiddle,"  that 
most  common  sign-board  for  rural  inns,  is  said  to 
have  been  borrowed,  not  from  the  venerable  nursery 
rhyme,  but  from  the  French  "  CJiat  Fiddle"  which 
was  equally  —  and  more  deservedly  —  popular  with 
Gallic  landlords.  So  numerous  were  cat  signs  in 
London  two  hundred  years  ago,  that  the  "  Spectator  " 
tells  a  pleasant  story  of  a  man  who,  being  made  ill 
and  faint  by  the  proximity  of  a  live  cat,  suffered  a 
corresponding  degree  of  discomfort  when  passing 
under  the  swinging  boards  on  which  Pussy  was  re 
peatedly  painted. 

Yet  for  all  the  frequency  with  which  we  encoun 
ter  the  cat  in  every  phase  of  English  life,  for  all 
the  maxims  and  proverbs  and  familiar  superstitions 
with  which  her  name  is  linked,  there  is  little  to 
show  that  she  won  more  than  tolerance  in  the 
"free,  fair  homes  "  of  that  benighted  land.  If  she 
sneezed  on  a  wedding-day,  she  brought  luck  to  the 
bride.  If  she  jumped  on  a  corpse,  she  presaged 
misfortune.  If  she  washed  her  face,  or  turned  her 
tail  to  the  fire,  men  knew  that  rain  was  coming. 

"  Scratch  but  thine  ear, 
Then  boldly  tell  what  weather  's  drawing  near." 

wrote  Lord  Westmorland,  who  had  ample  leisure 
in  which  to  observe  the  habits  of  his  cat  during 
the  long  imprisonment  which  she  shared. 


98  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

"  True  calendars  as  Pusse's  eare, 
Wasn't  o're  to  tell  what  change  is  neare," 

sang  Herrick  in  his  Devonshire  vicarage  ;  and  John 
Swan,  writing  his  "  Speculum  Mundi  "  in  1643,  tells 
us  very  seriously  that  the  cat  "  useth  therefore  to 
wash  her  face  with  her  tongue ;  and  it  is  observed 
by  some  that  if  she  put  her  feet  beyond  the  crown 
of  her  head  in  this  kind  of  washing,  it  is  a  signe  of 
raine." 

In  fact  there  was  scarcely  a  movement  of  the 
cat  which  had  not  its  meaning  for  the  villager,  who 
did  his  domestic  Sphinx  the  honour  of  close  scru 
tiny,  and  who  attached  so  much  significance  to  her 
simplest  actions  that  the  poor  creature,  like  other 
oracles,  was  too  often  held  responsible  for  the  evils 
she  presaged.  Thus  the  yokel,  being  told  that 
Pussy's  ablutions  foretold  rain,  passed,  by  an  easy 
mental  process,  to  the  conviction  that  they  brought 
rain ;  and  so  —  eager  for  the  harvesting  —  killed 
his  cat,  as  the  simplest  method  of  escaping  showers. 
The  sailor's  wife,  in  her  uncertainty  as  to  whether 
the  fast  rising  wind  was  the  cause  or  the  effect  of 
Tabby's  nervous  clawing  at  bed  curtain  and  table 
leg,  deemed  it  but  common  prudence  to  drown  the 
animal  which  might  otherwise  drown  her  good  man 
at  sea.  It  is  not  wise  nor  well  to  herald  calamity. 
The  part  of  Cassandra  is  ever  an  ungrateful  one 
to  play. 


THE    CAT  OF   ALBION  99 

There  are  a  few  isolated  cases  of  cats  who  were 
lauded  and  distinguished  in  England  before  the 
eighteenth  century,  from  which  late  period  may  be 
traced  their  general  popularity.  The  most  striking 
instance  is,  of  course,  the  cat  of  Cardinal  Wolsey, 
who  shared  his  master's  wool-sack,  or  at  least  his 
master's  seat  in  Council,  the  wool-sack  —  emblem 
of  protected  industries  —  being  all  unknown  before 
Elizabeth's  day.  He  is  said  to  have  been  a  large 
and  beautiful  beast  with  brindled  fur,  as  arrogant 
as  the  Lord  Chancellor,  but  better  bred ;  delight 
ing  in  display  and  ostentation,  yet  ever  mingling 
suavity  with  pride.  More  pleasing  to  contemplate 
is  the  faithful  cat  of  that  unfortunate  Duke  of 
Norfolk  who  was  imprisoned  by  Elizabeth  for  his 
intrigues  with  her  fair  cousin  of  Scotland.  This 
loyal  and  valiant  little  friend  followed  her  master 
to  the  Tower,  and,  being  denied  admission,  actually 
made  her  way  down  a  chimney  into  the  Duke's 
apartment,  and  was  permitted  thenceforth  to  share 
that  nobleman's  captivity. 

As  a  fact,  imprisonment  has  scant  terrors  for  the 
cat.  It  accords  ttoo  well  with  her  serene  and  con 
templative  disposition.  Restless  wanderer  though 
she  appears,  and  true  lover  of  liberty  though  she 
is,  and  has  ever  been,  she  can  yet  live  her  life  with 
tranquil  enjoyment  in  a  ship,  on  the  seventh  floor 
of  an  apartment  house,  in  a  granary  which  she  is 


ioo  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

never  permitted  to  leave,  or  in  London's  Tower. 
There  were  probably  many  French  cats  who  passed 
their  days  meditatively  in  the  Bastile,  content  to  be 
immured  with  their  masters,  and  accepting  like  phi 
losophers  the  restraints  and  the  indulgences  of  that 
ill-omened,  but  singularly  comfortable  fortress. 

"  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make  " 

for  a  creature  whose  independence  of  character  re 
mains  untouched  by  the  sternest  and  narrowest  of 
environments.  Rather  perhaps  does  she  feel  her 
self  a  captive  when  surrounded  too  strenuously  by 
the  doting  and  troublesome  affection  of  mortals, 
who  cannot  be  made  to  understand  or  to  respect 
her  deep  inviolable  reserve.  Lord  Westmorland's 
cat  freely  shared  her  master's  confinement.  Sir 
Henry  Wyatt's  cat  not  only  followed  him  to  the 
Tower,  but  is  said  to  have  saved  him  from  starva 
tion  by  bringing  him  pigeons  to  eat ;  and  though  it 
is  difficult  to  pin  our  faith  to  this  part  of  the  story, 
we  know  that  there  still  exists,  by  way  of  confirma 
tion,  a  painting  of  the  knight,  seated  in  his  cell,  and 
of  his  cat  dragging  a  pigeon  through  the  window 
bars.  The  present  Earl  of  Romney,  who  is  the  happy 
inheritor  of  this  historic  relic,  likewise  possesses  a 
separate  portrait  of  the  animal,  with  an  inscription 
stating  plainly,  "  This  is  the  cat  that  saved  Sir 
Henry  Wyatt."  Why  should  we  remain  sceptical 


THE    CAT    OF   ALBION  101 

in  the  face  of  such  interesting  and  cumulative  evi 
dence  ! 

It  is  a  matter  for  endless  regret  that  Shakespeare, 
in  whose  plays  we  find  so  many  allusions  to  the  cat, 
never  once  mentions  it  with  admiration  or  esteem. 
That  tepid  phrase  of  Shylock's, 

"  a  harmless  necessary  cat," 

which  might  have  been  written  by  Joanna  Baillie, 
is  about  the  kindest  word  vouchsafed  to  a  creature 
whose  beauty  alone  should  have  won  warmer  praise. 
And  this  chillness  of  comment  is  the  more  trying 
to  our  souls  because  it  is  impossible  to  read  any  of 
these  allusions  without  knowing  that  Shakespeare 
had  looked  closely  at  a  number  of  cats,  had  noticed 
their  habits  and  characteristics,  and  had  felt  the 
subtlety  of  their  association  with  the  supernatural. 

"  Thrice  the  brinded  cat  hath  mewed," 

says  the  Witch  in  "Macbeth,"  and  this  simplest 
and  commonest  of  statements  is  fraught  with  dire 
significance  of  evil.  Falstaff  knows  whereof  he 
speaks  when  he  declares  he  is  "  as  vigilant  as  a  cat 
to  steal  cream  ; "  and  so  does  Antonio,  in  "  The 
Tempest,"  when  he  uses  the  admirable  similitude  :  — 

"  For  all  the  rest, 
They  '11  take  suggestion  as  a  cat  laps  milk." 

How  full  of  stealthy  horror  these  two  lines  in 
"Pericles  "  :  — 


io2  THE   FIRESIDE    SPHINX 

"  The  cat,  with  eyne  of  burning  coal, 
Now  couches  'fore  the  mouse's  hole." 

How  keenly  descriptive  of  the  struggle  we  have  all 
of  us  witnessed  between  Pussy's  caution  and  cupid 
ity,  is  Lady  Macbeth's  scornful  jibe  :  — 

"  Letting  /  dare  not  wait  upon  /  -would, 
Like  the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage." 

Yet  in  all  this  there  is  no  touch  of  kindness  ;  and 
when  we  go  further,  we  fare  worse. 

"  Every  cat  and  dog, 
And  little  mouse,  every  unworthy  thing," 

moans  Romeo,  who  ought  to  have  been  ashamed  of 
such  a  speech,  even  in  the  extremity  of  his  anguish. 

"  Creatures  vile,  as  cats  and  dogs, 
Of  no  esteem  ;  " 

says  Cornelius  in  "  Cymbeline." 

"  Hang  off,  thou  cat,  thou  burr  :  vile  thing,  let  loose  !  " 

cries  Lysander  to  poor  Hermia ;  and  Bertram,  in 
"  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,"  must  needs  air  his 
unwelcome  views. 

"  I  could  endure  anything  before  but  a  cat,  and  now  he 's  a  cat 
to  me  : " 

is  the  angry  word  he  flings  at  Parolles  ;  and,  as  his 
resentment  flames  hotter  and  hotter,  he  can  appar 
ently  find  no  more  stinging  reproach  :  — 

"  He  is  more  and  more  a  cat." 
"  He  's  a  cat  still." 


THE  CAT  OF  ALBION  103 

What  wonder  that  Pussy  failed  long  of  her  tri 
umph  upon  English  soil,  when  the  great  poet  of 
England  had  nothing  better  than  this  to  say  in  her 
behalf  ? 


« 


tyfiMSjjjL  , 

&  'fetffe 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    CAT    IN    ART 

"  A  little  lion,  small  and  dainty  sweet, 
With  sea-grey  eyes  and  softly  stepping  feet." 

IF  the  cat  has  been  exiled  from  ecclesiastical 
architecture,  she  has  triumphed  in  Christian 
art.  The  early  Italian  masters  admitted  her 
over  and  over  again  into  their  sacred  pictures,  paint 
ing  her  lovingly,  and  with  a  delicate  appreciation, 
not  only  of  her  grace,  but  of  her  domestic  character, 
as  though  they  sought  to  represent  through  her  the 
human,  earthly,  simple  life  which  they  blended  so 
sweetly  with  the  mysterious  and  divine.  In  many 
pictures  of  the  Annunciation  we  find  a  cat  drows 
ing  upon  the  Blessed  Virgin's  work-basket,  or  curled 
up  on  a  corner  of  her  azure  robe.  We  see  her  re 
peatedly  in  paintings  of  the  Last  Supper,  the  Mar 
riage  Feast  at  Cana,  and  the  birth  of  the  Blessed 


THE    CAT   IN    ART  105 

Virgin  ;  which  final  subject  —  so  dear  to  the  Italian 
heart  —  was  seldom  deemed  complete  without  the 
introduction  of  a  cat  into  the  spacious  bed-chamber 
of  Saint  Ann.  This  is  all  the  more  pleasing  be 
cause  of  Pussy's  conspicuous  absence  from  Pagan 
art.  The  dog  leaps  by  the  side  of  Artemis,  or  bays 
at  the  moon  while  Endymion  slumbers.  The  kid 
drinks  from  the  shepherd's  bowl,  the  young  bull 
is  led  garlanded  to  the  sacrifice,  the  stag  falls, 
pierced  by  the  hunter's  dart.  But  of  the  little  fire 
side  Sphinx  we  have  no  sign  nor  token.  She  and 
she  alone  finds  no  place  among  the  marble  animals 
of  the  Vatican.  Those  wise  and  watchful  hounds, 
those  lions  and  wolves  and  spotted  leopards  make 
no  room  for  her.  We  see  the  hare  couching  upon 
her  form,  and  the  lobster  lying  on  its  rocky  bed  ; 
but  for  the  most  beautiful  of  domestic  animals  we 
search,  and  search  in  vain.  Only  in  the  Capitoline 
Museum  may  be  found  a  spirited  bas-relief,  of  a  late 
period,  which  represents  a  woman  trying  to  teach 
her  cat  to  dance  to  the  music  of  a  lyre.  The  cat,  a 
sullen  beast  with  no  love  of  music  or  dancing  in  its 
soul,  has  paused  in  the  unwelcome  task  to  snap 
viciously  at  a  young  duck,  which,  with  obvious  lack 
of  caution,  is  thrusting  forward  its  inquisitive  head. 
Centuries  later,  Tintoretto  painted  just  such  a  pussy 
snapping  at  just  such  a  duck,  in  his  charming  pic 
ture  of  Leda,  —  Leda  caressing  the  amorous  swan, 


io6  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

while  a  dear  little  dog  jumps  up  at  her,  vainly  striv 
ing  to  attract  attention.  She  was  evidently  partial 
to  pets. 

Among  the  mosaics  taken  from  Pompeii,  and 
placed  in  the  Museum  of  Naples,  are  several  ani 
mated  representations  of  cats.  Two  of  the  finest 
were  found  in  the  House  of  the  Faun,  —  unlovely 
pictures  both  of  them,  revealing  Pussy  as  an  outlaw 
and  marauder.  That  there  were  homes  in  which 
she  was  prized  and  cherished  is  prettily  proven  by 
a  mutilated  marble  preserved  at  Bordeaux.  It  is  a 
Gallo-Roman  tomb  of  the  fourth  century,  and  on 
it  we  discern  the  broken  outlines  of  a  young  girl 
clasping  her  cat  in  her  arms,  as  though  in  death 
they  were  not  divided. 

From  these  fleeting  glimpses  of  Pussy,  before 
she  plunged  into  the  long  darkness  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  turn  to  those  later,  calmer 
years,  when,  having  survived  the  depreciation  and 
persecution  of  centuries,  we  see  her  once  again 
basking  in  the  light  and  warmth  of  a  rapidly  ripen 
ing  civilization.  Even  during  the  stormiest  period 
of  her  career  she  was  better  off  in  Italy  than  in 
fierce  Northern  lands  ;  and,  with  the  dawning  of 
fairer  days,  no  happier  proof  could  be  afforded  of 
the  affection  she  inspired  than  her  constant  pre 
sence  in  Italian  art.  It  is  true  that  she  makes  an 
equally  early  appearance  upon  Flemish  canvases. 


THE    CAT   IN    ART  107 

In  the  Gallery  of  Madrid  there  is  a  fantastic  picture 
by  Hieronymus  Bosch,  representing  the  birth  of 
Eve,  in  which  a  fierce  but  very  badly  painted  cat 
is  prematurely  breaking  the  peace  of  Paradise  by 
eating  a  poor  little  tadpole ;  and  in  Van  Tulden's 
"Orpheus  taming  the  Beasts,"  —  also  in  Madrid,— 
we  see  the  animals  great  and  small  listening  to  the 
melody  in  a  state  of  mild  rapture,  —  like  Germans  in 
a  Munich  beer-cellar,  —  with  the  solitary  exception 
of  the  cat,  who  erects  an  angry  tail,  and  evinces  a 
disposition  to  fight  a  sleepy  and  music-loving  lion. 

The  faithfully  wrought  scenes  of  common  life, 
which  were  the  delight  and  triumph  of  the  Dutch 
and  Flemish  schools,  afforded  a  sympathetic  setting 
for  the  cat.  It  would  have  been  strange  indeed 
if  Jan  Fyt,  who  copied  beast  and  bird  with  such 
patient  fidelity,  had  slighted  this  little  model  sitting 
in  his  chimney  corner,  or  prowling  panther-like 
along  his  neighbour's  wall.  He  was  well  aware  of 
her  value.  He  knew  how  finely  her  pliant  strength 
contrasted  with  the  stillness  of  the  poor  dead  phea 
sants  whose  ruffled  plumage  he  so  loved  to  paint. 
In  one  of  his  pictures  in  Milan  there  are  two  splen 
did,  greedy,  thievish  cats,  instinct  with  life  and 
energy,  that  creep  with  cautious  steps  and  gleaming 
eyes  about  the  heaped-up  game.  The  subject  com 
mended  itself  to  other  artists,  but  few  gave  it  such 
lively  and  forcible  expression.  Compare  the  treat- 


io8  THE    FIRESIDE    SPHINX 

ment  of  Jan  Fyt's  work  with  that  of  the  "  Poul 
terer's  Shop,"  by  Van  Mieris,  which  hangs  in  the 
National  Gallery  of  London,  and  in  which  a  pretty 
tortoise-shell  pussy,  soft-furred  and  innocent-eyed, 
looks  wistfully  at  a  dead  duck  hanging  well  out  of 
her  reach.  The  Flemish  painter  felt,  and  felt  with 
reluctant  admiration,  the  lawlessness  of  the  animals 
he  drew ;  the  Dutchman  transferred  to  canvas  his 
own  sleepy  pet,  curled  up  in  the  warmest  corner  of 
his  hearth.  His  cat  is  as  gentle,  for  all  her  greed, 
as  is  that  comfortable  beast,  so  drowsy  and  uncon 
cerned,  in  Jordaens's  tumultuous  "  T\velfth  Night ;  " 
or  the  mother  puss  who  watches  her  five  kittens 
with  tender  and  over-anxious  solicitude  in  Jan 
Steen's  equally  uproarious  "  Revellers." 

Such  pictures  seem  made  for  cats.  To  paint  a 
kitchen  without  one  would  be  like  painting  a  mea 
dow  without  cows.  Worse,  indeed ;  for  there  is 
no  such  air  of  destitution,  of  utter  and  melancholy 
incompleteness  about  a  cowless  meadow,  as  about 
a  catless  kitchen.  No  effort  of  imagination  was 
needed  to  introduce  Pussy  into  a  Dutch  interior. 
She  was  there  by  virtue  of  natural  selection,  of 
justifiable  and  inevitable  proprietorship ;  but  to 
gently  insinuate  her  into  the  company  of  saints  and 
angels  required  more  courage,  or  more  affection. 
Only  now  and  then  an  early  Flemish  painter  ven 
tured  upon  such  a  flight  of  fancy.  There  is  in 


THE    CAT    IN    ART  109 

Munich  an  Annunciation  by  Hcndrick  met  de  Bles, 
in  which  the  Blessed  Virgin's  cat,  a  large  handsome 
white  animal,  sits  sleeping  serenely  by  her  side. 

When  we  turn  to  Italy,  however,  we  are  charmed 
to  see  how  naturally  and  sweetly  the  cat  slips  into 
sacred  art.  We  expect  to  find  her  in  the  Garden 
of  Eden,  though  Domenichino,  aware  perhaps  of 
the  legend  which  denies  her  this  privilege,  has 
carefully  excluded  her  from  the  group  of  animals 
pressing  uncomfortably  close  to  his  beautiful  and 
seductive  Eve.  Jacopo  Bassano,  on  the  contrary, 
either  did  not  know  the  story,  or  refused  to  give  it 
heed.  The  Ark  with  its  crowded  freight  was,  as 
might  be  supposed,  the  great  resource  of  such  a 
painter,  forced  by  the  current  of  his  time  into  a  re 
ligious  groove.  Bassano  profited  by  the  Deluge  all 
his  life.  He  painted  the  beasts  entering  their  asy 
lum  ;  he  painted  them  departing ;  he  painted  them 
scattered  upon  Mount  Ararat,  making  up  their 
minds  where  they  would  go  next ;  and  always  he 
painted  a  cat,  filling  the  most  conspicuous  place, 
supercilious,  combative,  and  alert.  Among  the 
beautiful  frescoes  by  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  on  the  walls 
of  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa,  is  one  which  repre 
sents  the  animals  leaving  the  Ark ;  and  here,  too, 
we  see  a  large  cat  facing  all  its  companions  with 
the  resolute  and  somewhat  condescending  air  of  an 
assured  favourite. 


no  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

In  pictures  of  the  Annunciation,  the  cat  that  oc 
casionally  lies  curled  at  the  Blessed  Virgin's  feet 
lends  to  a  subject,  so  fraught  with  spiritual  signifi 
cance,  an  air  of  homely  simplicity.  Her  presence, 
like  that  of  the  water  jar,  or  the  open  basket  heaped 
with  unfinished  sewing,  serves  to  indicate  the  modest 
routine  of  daily  life,  interrupted  so  strangely  by  the 
Archangel's  message.  There  is  an  Annunciation 
by  Barocci  which  hangs  in  the  Vatican  Gallery,  and 
in  which  we  see  a  fine  grey  cat  sleeping  undisturbed 
upon  the  Virgin's  work ;  while  in  another  painting 
by  the  same  artist  at  Budapest,  a  cat  rests  tran 
quilly  on  a  cushion,  looking  with  half-shut,  indiffer 
ent  eyes  at  the  angelic  visitor.  Indifference  is,  in 
fact,  her  role  in  art.  The  most  riotous  Annunciation 
in  all  Christendom  is  a  partly  obliterated  fresco  by 
Taddeo  Zucchero,  on  the  portico  of  the  hospital  of 
Santa  Maria  Nuova  in  Florence.  Scores  of  angels, 
broad-pinioned,  athletic,  and,  for  the  most  part, 
naked,  accompany  Gabriel  on  his  mission.  They 
wing  their  tumultuous  flight  through  the  air,  darting 
hither  and  thither,  playing  clamorously  upon  every 
kind  of  musical  instrument,  and  circling  about  the 
Blessed  Maid,  who  stands,  timid  and  frightened,  in 
the  farthest  corner  of  the  room.  On  a  chair  close 
at  hand  lies  a  cat,  drowsily  watching  the  celestial 
multitude.  She  uncurls  her  limbs,  and  lifts  her 
head  a  little,  as  though  startled  from  sleep,  but  that 


THE    CAT    IN    ART  in 

is  all.  Another  minute,  and  she  will  settle  softly 
down  again  upon  her  cushions.  She  is  not  in  the 
least  disturbed. 

The  same  spirit  of  unconcern  distinguishes  Saint 
Ann's  cat,  who,  keeping  close  to  her  mistress, 
affects  no  interest  in  anything  beyond  her  own 
comfort  and  convenience.  Among  the  frescoes  by 
Puccio,  in  the  choir  of  the  Orvieto  Cathedral,  are 
two  which  represent  respectively  the  vision  of  Saint 
Ann,  and  the  birth  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  In  the 
first,  the  Saint  is  accompanied  by  a  very  fine  white 
cat,  who,  with  back  high  arched  and  tail  erect, 
drives  from  the  room  a  meek,  intruding  dog.  In 
the  second,  the  same  pussy  stands  on  her  hind-legs, 
and,  profiting  by  the  concentration  of  everybody's 
attention  upon  the  new-born  baby,  helps  herself 
with  cool  audacity  from  a  little  table  which  has 
been  neatly  spread  by  the  bedside.  In  the  Oratorio 
of  Saint  Bernardino  at  Sienna  there  is  a  charm 
ing  treatment  of  the  same  subject ;  and  here  Saint 
Ann's  cat  is  coal-black,  with  gleaming  yellow  eyes. 
She  looks  intelligent,  but  unamiable,  and  watches 
with  grave  attention  the  bustling  maids  who,  pleased 
and  smiling,  bathe  the  pretty  child. 

The  picture  which  of  all  others,  however,  best 
illustrates  the  temper  of  the  cat,  as  the  Italians 
knew  her  two  hundred  years  ago,  and  as  we  know 
her  to-day,  was  painted  by  Luca  Giordano,  and 


ii2  THE    FIRESIDE    SPHINX 

hangs  in  the  Imperial  Gallery  of  Vienna.  It  is 
another  presentation  of  that  ever  familiar  theme, 
the  birth  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  Saint  Ann  sits 
upright  on  her  bed.  Saint  Joachim  enters  the  door. 
The  spacious  room  is  full  of  attendants,  engaged  in 
waiting  on  their  mistress,  in  airing  the  baby  linen, 
in  washing  and  admiring  the  infant.  Everybody  is 
busy  and  excited.  Everybody,  save  Saint  Ann,  is 
standing,  or  kneeling  on  the  floor.  There  is,  in 
fact,  but  one  chair  in  the  room.  On  that  chair  is 
a  cushion,  and  on  that  cushion  sleeps,  serene  and 
undisturbed,  a  cat. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Titian  and  Velasquez 
and  Murillo  gave  their  manifest  preference  to  dogs. 
Titian's  lap-dogs  are  the  most  engaging  in  art ;  and 
the  little  white  woolly  creatures  —  like  toy  lambs  — 
that  Murillo  painted,  beguile  our  souls  with  their 
air  of  wistful  and  sympathetic  intelligence.  Who 
does  not  remember  —  and  remembering,  love  —  the 
poor  little  beast  in  the  Louvre,  who  holds  up  one 
paw  beseechingly,  and  begs  for  a  peep  at  the  new 
born  Virgin  ?  A  small,  fat,  azure-winged  angel, 
carrying  a  basket  of  baby  linen,  and  bursting  with 
pride  over  the  importance  of  his  task,  decides  upon 
his  own  authority  that  no  dogs  shall  be  permitted 
to  enter,  and  huffs  the  petitioner  away.  Velasquez, 
though  he  painted  a  fine  puss  in  "  Las  Hilanderas," 
ignored  the  race  as  a  rule.  His  partiality  was  for 


THE    CAT    IN   ART  113 

hounds.  If  we  want  to  see  cats,  —  splendid,  pam 
pered,  luxurious,  quarrelsome  cats,  —  we  must  look 
for  them  in  the  great  glowing  canvases  of  Vero 
nese  ;  in  those  sumptuous  scenes  where  noble  Vene 
tians  feast  opulently,  and  which  are  christened  - 
out  of  courteous  deference  to  the  demands  of  the 
Church  —  the  "Marriage  at  Cana,"  the  "Last 
Supper,"  or  "Christ  in  the  house  of  Simon  the 
Pharisee."  It  is  true  that  the  Church,  ungrateful 
for  an  attention  so  manifestly  insincere,  protested 
from  time  to  time  against  the  purely  mundane 
character  of  these  pictures  ;  but  Venice  loved  her 
painter  too  well  to  suffer  him  to  be  unduly  harassed. 
He  might  receive  grave  warnings,  gently  spoken. 
He  might  be  officially  bidden  to  blot  out  the  offend 
ing  jesters,  dwarfs,  and  monkeys.  But  the  Republic, 
albeit  deeply  and  passionately  religious  from  her 
birth,  —  when  she  turned  brigand,  it  was  to  steal 
the  relics  of  a  saint,  —  refused  to  be  scandalized  by 
Veronese's  art.  Nothing  was  blotted  out,  not  even 
the  cats  ;  and  so  we  see  them  to-day  curled  around 
the  water  jars  on  the  floor,  and  paddling  away  vig 
orously  with  their  soft  hind  paws  ;  or  tranquilly 
devouring  some  chance  bone  under  shadow  of  the 
table  ;  or  spitting  at  the  handsome,  spiritless  dogs  ; 
or  blinking  and  purring  in  the  arms  of  negro  attend 
ants.  They  are  carelessly  painted,  all  of  them.  It 
evidently  never  occurred  to  the  master  to  make  an 


n4  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

accurate  study  of  his  feline  model.  What  he  sought 
was  that  decorative  touch  which  Pussy  imparts  so 
graciously  when  in  accord  with  her  surroundings. 
Her  supple  limbs,  her  thick  soft  fur,  her  air  of  ease 
and  arrogance  harmonize  beautifully  with  the  rich 
Venetian  setting.  The  utmost  point  of  splendour 
and  self-indulgence  reached  by  nations  can  do  no 
more  than  meet  and  suffice  the  ordinary  tastes  of 
a  cat. 

A  very  different  view  of  the  subject  is  afforded 
us  by  the  Florentine  Cenacolas,  those  monastic 
frescoes  which,  with  exquisite  taste  and  feeling, 
adorned  the  refectory  walls.  In  them  we  find  the 
sleek  convent  cat,  who  appears  to  have  presented 
herself  invariably  to  the  painter's  notice,  and  to 
have  met  with  every  possible  attention  at  his  hands. 
Over  and  over  again  we  see  her ;  sometimes  curled 
sleepily  on  the  floor,  as  in  Allori's  fine  but  defaced 
picture  in  the  Carmine  ;  sometimes  pilfering  gravely 
from  the  bread-basket ;  oftenest  sitting  —  where 
we  least  like  to  see  her  —  at  the  feet  of  Judas.  In 
that  most  lovely  fresco  by  Ghirlandajo  in  the  smaller 
refectory  of  San  Marco,  the  Apostles  are  ranged 
round  the  board  on  high-backed  settles.  Saint  John 
as  usual  rests  his  head  upon  the  table.  Judas,  quite 
apart  from  the  others,  is  balanced  uncomfortably  on 
a  three-legged  stool.  An  open  arcade  beyond  re 
veals  rich  glimpses  of  leafy  trees,  with  peacocks  and 


THE   CAT   IN   ART  115 

other  bright-hued  birds  perched  on  their  branches. 
In  the  foreground,  close  to  Judas,  sits  bolt  upright 
a  very  intelligent  cat,  mistrustful,  unfriendly,  sullen. 
Her  attitude  and  expression  cannot  be  misunder 
stood.  We  all  know  how  a  cat  looks  when  com 
pelled  to  endure  the  society  of  a  dog,  with  whom  she 
is  assumed  to  be  on  friendly  terms,  but  for  whom 
she  cherishes  the  deep  suspicion,  and  deeper  ani 
mosity,  of  her  race. 

It  was  one  of  the  traditions  of  Italian  art  to  intro 
duce  a  cat  into  representations  of  the  Last  Supper, 
even  when  these  were  not  painted  for  convent  walls. 
There  is  a  very  fine  puss  in  Andrea  Schiavone's 
picture  which  hangs  in  the  Borghese  Gallery ;  and, 
amid  the  gloom  of  Tintoretto's  giant  canvases,  we 
may  occasionally  see  —  if  we  look  long  enough  — 
a  black  cat  lurking  in  the  densest  shadows,  its 
rounded  back  a  mere  patch  of  darkness  against  the 
deeper  darkness  beyond.  Even  Benvenuto  Cellini 
has  placed  a  cat  at  the  feet  of  Judas  in  one  of  his 
most  beautiful  bas-reliefs ;  but  then  Cellini  was 
without  doubt  enamoured  of  the  whole  furry  race. 
Delicacy,  daring,  and  an  absence  of  moral  standards 
could  not  fail  of  their  attractions  for  him.  Among 
the  admirable  specimens  of  his  workmanship  in  the 
treasury  of  the  Pitti  Palace  is  a  silver  dish,  showing 
in  relief  the  blessing  of  Jacob.  Rebecca's  cat  lies 
curled  close  at  Isaac's  feet,  watching  father  and  son 


n6  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

with  contemptuous  scrutiny,  as  if  she  fully  under 
stood  the  deception  which  was  being  practised,  but 
forbore,  in  indifference,  to  betray  it.  On  another 
dish,  Orpheus  plays  to  the  ravished  beasts  ;  and 
here  a  stately  cat,  very  courteous  and  attentive,  has 
a  whole  section  of  the  border  to  herself,  the  bigger 
animals  keeping  at  a  respectful  distance. 

Raphael  has  introduced  Pussy  into  at  least  one 
of  his  cartoons,  —  the  "  Supper  at  Emmaus."  He 
has  presented  her  in  a  most  aggressive  and  dis 
agreeable  humour.  She  crunches  a  big  bone  greed 
ily,  eyeing  meanwhile  an  unhappy  dog  that  would 
fain  share  the  feast.  Her  roughened  fur  and  undu 
lating  tail  betray  the  angry  disturbance  of  her  mind. 
If  we  contrast  this  cat,  so  true  to  nature's  self, 
with  some  of  the  other  animals  wrought  into  the 
Vatican  tapestries  ;  —  with  that  more  than  doubt 
ful  elephant,  upon  whose  back  a  playful  ape  is  sport 
ing  ;  or  with  those  curious,  portly,  short-necked 
beasts,  having  heads  like  horses,  and  rings  through 
their  noses  to  prove  to  the  world  they  are  camels, 
we  see  the  supreme  advantage  of  the  living  model, 
however  seldom  she  may  sit,  however  slightingly 
she  may  be  handled.  Think  of  the  infinite  variety 
of  lions  —  none  of  them  in  the  least  like  lions  —  that 
accompany  Saint  Jerome  in  art  !  Sometimes  these 
faithful  creatures  stand  on  their  hind  legs,  or  trot 
by  their  master's  side,  like  amiable  dogs  ;  sometimes 


THE    CAT    IN    ART  117 

they  have  little  bullet  heads  no  larger  than  pan 
thers  ;  sometimes  they  are  all  head,  like  the  Ameri 
can  bison  ;  and  occasionally  they  resemble  overgrown 
lambs,  woolly,  foolish,  and  innocent.  It  is  a  gen 
uine  relief  to  look  at  that  quaint  old  picture  by 
Antonello  da  Messina,  in  the  National  Gallery,  and 
see  Saint  Jerome  sitting  placidly  in  his  study,  — 
his  lion  having  gone  out  for  a  stroll,  —  while  a  very 
nice  cat  lies  curled  up  affectionately  at  his  feet. 
The  painter's  conception  of  the  desert's  king  might 
have  been  as  vaguely  humorous  as  Carpaccio's  ; 
but,  when  it  came  to  cats,  he  had  no  lack  of  sub 
jects  for  his  inspiration.  By  the  close  of  the  fif 
teenth  century,  Pussy  had  reestablished  her  position 
—  albeit  a  somewhat  precarious  one  —  throughout 
Italy. 

In  all  the  pictures  we  have  been  considering,  — 
Italian,  Dutch,  or  Flemish, — the  cat  is  introduced 
as  a  detail,  usually  as  a  bit  of  household  furnishing. 
She  gives  a  pretty  homelike  touch,  whether  we  see 
her  enjoying  a  bowl  of  Martha's  bread  and  milk ;  or 
seeking  her  share  of  the  feast  at  Cana ;  or  merely 
basking  in  the  sun,  as  Giulio  Romano  painted  her, 
while  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  Saint  Ann  watch 
their  babies  at  play.  She  is  never  the  first  object 
of  the  poet's  art,  and  never  even  the  salient  point 
of  a  composition  ;  though  Barocci  has  not  hesitated 
to  lodge  a  family  of  young  kittens  in  the  Madonna's 


n8  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

lap,  nor  to  represent  the  little  Saint  John  as  mis 
chievously  teasing  a  cat,  by  holding  a  captured  bird 
just  beyond  the  reach  of  her  claws.  When  she 
accompanies  Andrea  Doria,  it  is  merely  because 
that  great  sailor — after  the  fashion  of  sailors  — 
loved  her  heartily,  and  gave  her  a  place  of  honour 
by  his  side.  There  is,  indeed,  in  the  Academy  of 
Saint  Luke  in  Rome,  a  well-known  study  of  cats' 
heads  by  Salvator  Rosa,  —  a  study  ill  calculated  to 
awaken  enthusiasm,  or  to  soften  the  asperity  of  the 
disaffected.  All  Salvator's  pussies  are  miauling 
bitterly,  their  furry  faces  drawn  into  lines  of  wrath 
and  excitation.  Involuntarily  the  chance  spectator 
covers  his  ears  when  he  looks  at  them.  Few  mor 
tals  can  stand  unmoved  the  curious  and  complicated 
vocalism  of  the  cat. 

With  this  melancholy  exception,  however,  we 
search  long  ere  we  see  Pussy  drawn  with  the  careful 
and  conscientious  art  of  Albrecht  Diirer's  hare, 
drawn  or  painted  by  herself,  and  for  her  own  attrac 
tions.  Cornelius  Wissher's  famous  print  is  prob 
ably  the  first  and  finest  of  its  kind.  His  great 
round  Chat  Couche  sleeps  so  soundly,  its  head  low 
ered,  its  paws  tucked  out  of  sight,  that  we  can 
almost  hear  the  measured  breathing,  and  see  the 
sleek  furry  sides  heave  gently  in  the  very  aban 
donment  of  repose.  A  hundred  years  later,  Gott 
fried  Mind,  the  sullen  recluse  of  Berne,  was  deemed 


THE    CAT    IN    ART  119 

a  little  mad  because  he  painted  nothing  but  cats, 
and  would  endure  no  other  companionship.  All 
day  he  sat  in  his  shabby  garret,  sufficiently  occu 
pied  by  his  work,  sufficiently  amused  by  his  models. 
Kittens  perched  on  his  shoulders,  and  frolicked 
gayly  among  his  few  possessions.  Their  mothers 
purred  a  murmurous  accompaniment,  and  smiled  on 
him  with  indulgent  contempt.  For  absolute  vera 
city,  his  feline  portraits  have  never  been  surpassed. 
Mme.  Lebrun,  who  deeply  admired  his  genius,  and 
who  purchased  many  of  his  finest  works,  gave  him 
the  infelicitous  title,  "  Raphael  of  Cats  ; "  and  the 
genuine  stupidity  of  the  expression  fixed  it  natu 
rally  and  inevitably  in  all  men's  memories.  To  this 
day  no  one  ever  dreams  of  alluding  to  Mind  in  any 
other  words.  His  attachment  to  his  furry  friends 
was  as  ardent  and  unchanging  as  was  his  aversion 
to  intrusive  mortals.  The  sorrow  of  his  life  was 
the  massacre  of  cats  in  1809,  an  epidemic  having 
broken  out  that  year  among  the  pussies  of  Berne 
which  necessitated  this  drastic  measure.  Eight 
hundred  perished  at  the  hands  of  the  police ;  and 
though  Mind  contrived  to  save  most  of  his  own 
pets,  yet  the  thought  of  those  eight  hundred  inno 
cents  troubled  his  poor  heart  until  he  died. 

Eastern  artists,  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  more 
especially,  have  devoted  their  skill  for  centuries  to 
painting  the  cat,  lavishing  upon  this  congenial  sub- 


120  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

ject  all  the  delicate  subtlety  of  the  Orient.  Their 
work  is  little  known  in  Europe  and  America.  Only 
now  and  then  some  rash  collector  hoards  a  few 
priceless  pictures,  at  which  his  friends  stare  super 
ciliously,  valuing  them,  as  Macaulay  valued  Celtic 
manuscripts,  —  sixpence  for  the  lot.  Fifty  years 
ago,  however,  the  drawings  of  Fo-Kou-Say,  or, 
as  the  Parisians  christened  him,  Hok'sai,  aroused 
great  enthusiasm  throughout  France ;  and  M. 
Champfleury,  in  a  somewhat  fantastic  spirit,  likens 
the  Japanese  to  the  Spanish  painter,  Goya,  finding 
in  both  the  same  capricious  fancy,  the  same  wanton 
grace  of  outline,  the  same  exquisite  conception  of 
the  waywardness  of  women  and  of  cats.  Several 
of  Hok'sai's  beautiful  sketches  have  been  repro 
duced  —  though  with  little  skill  —  in  M.  Champ- 
fleury's  volume ;  and  their  finely  imaginative  char 
acter  suggests  to  the  sympathetic  mind  those 
charming  Oriental  stories,  so  different  from  the 
sombre  legends  of  mediaeval  Christendom.  The 
sinuous  and  light-limbed  pussies  that  Hok'sai  cop 
ied  so  daringly  must  surely  have  attended  the  mid 
night  dances,  held  in  flowery  gardens  heavy  with 
perfumes  and  soft  with  scattered  petals,  where  — 
so  says  an  ancient  Japanese  tradition  —  assemble 
under  the  round  white  moon  such  cats  as  are  able 
to  pay  the  entrance  fee,  —  a  stolen  silken  handker 
chief.  Or  perhaps,  in  calmer  mood,  they  may  plod 


THE    CAT    IN    ART  121 

patiently  through  the  pleasant  task  which  for  cen 
turies  has  been  assigned  to  all  Persian  pussies  in 
the  East,  —  the  reading  of  the  "Arabian  Nights," 
from  the  first  page  to  the  last,  twice  in  every  year. 
Vastly  different  from  these  mysterious  darlings 
is  the  sober  simplicity  of  Burbank's  honest  cats ; 
or  the  tigerish  fierceness,  so  frank  and  free,  of  the 
splendid  creatures  drawn  by  Delacroix ;  or  the  in 
nocent  playfulness  of  Lambert's  kittens,  almost 
as  well  known  and  well  beloved  as  those  of  Mme. 
Henriette  Ronner.  In  truth,  Lambert  and  Mme. 
Ronner  may  be  said  to  divide  the  honours  easily 
between  them,  the  larger  share  falling  to  the  lady's 
lot.  Their  pictures  hang  in  the  Luxembourg  and 
other  great  modern  galleries.  Prints  and  photo 
graphs  have  made  their  work  familiar  to  the  world. 
They  should  both  be  held  in  some  degree  respon 
sible  for  the  great  wave  of  cat-worship  which  has 
engulfed  all  Christendom  in  the  past  twenty-five 
years.  The  lively  affection  which  Mme.  Ronner's 
cats  inspire  in  every  heart  has  softened  the  asperi 
ties  of  life  for  the  whole  feline  race.  No  one  can 
look  without  love  upon  these  pretty  creatures,  these 
baby  pussies  all  gayety  and  grace,  scrambling  with 
foolish  temerity  over  chair  and  table,  radiant  in 
their  self-sufficiency,  and  always  the  objects  of 
deep  maternal  solicitude. 

"  Kittens,  than  Eastern  Houris  fairer  seen, 
Whose  bright  eyes  glisten  with  immortal  green." 


122  THE    FIRESIDE    SPHINX 

If  Mme.  Ronner's  family  groups  are  distinctly 
artificial  in  composition,  each  kitling  playing  its 
little  part  in  a  manner  too  effective  for  individual 
caprice,  her  simpler  studies  are  open  to  no  such 
untimely  criticism.  She  has  painted  placid  medi 
tative  cats,  immersed  in  thought  or  sinking  sweetly 
into  slumber,  that  charm  our  souls  with  the  dignity 
of  their  egotism,  the  frank  expression  of  their 
supreme  self-love.  The  weakness  of  her  work  is 
possibly  its  aristocratic  narrowness  of  field.  Like 
Watteau,  she  is  a  "Prince"  -or  Princess  —  "of 
Court  Painters,"  never  wandering  from  the  sump 
tuous  atmosphere  of  ease  and  elegance  and  repose. 
Her  earlier  pictures  were  not  cast  in  this  mould ; 
but  for  many  years  her  pussies  have  been  soft  pam 
pered  playthings,  who  frolic  through  life  without  a 
care,  and  whose  only  burden  is  the  courtly  one,  — 
ennui.  What  Mr.  Pater  says  of  Watteau's  men 
and  women  might  well  apply  to  Mme.  Ronner's 
cats. 

"  Half  in  masquerade,  playing  the  drawing-room 
or  garden  comedy  of  life,  these  persons  have  upon 
them,  not  less  than  the  landscape  he  composes,  and 
among  the  accidents  of  which  they  group  them 
selves  with  such  a  perfect  fittingness,  a  certain 
light  we  should  seek  for  in  vain  upon  anything 
real." 

In  this  engaging  mummery,  Mme.  Ronner's  beau- 


THE    CAT    IN    ART  123 

tiful  Persians  play  their  parts  to  perfection  ;  but 
while  no  one  has  a  right  to  quarrel  with  an  artist's 
chosen  field,  or  with  the  limitations  thereof,  we 
cannot  help  wearying  a  little  of  so  much  softness 
and  luxury,  of  such  perpetual  alternations  of  pas 
time  and  sleep.  Life  has  other  aspects  for  a  cat  of 
character.  The  pleasures  of  the  chase  in  field  and 
barn  and  cupboard  ;  the  excitement  of  being  chased 
in  turn  by  her  ancestral  enemy,  the  dog ;  the  sweet 
stolen  moments  of  vagabondage ;  the  passionate 
exaltation  of  the  midnight  serenade;  the  joy  of 
combat ;  the  amorous  duplicity  of  courtship  ;  — what 
fields  of  action  stretch  limitlessly  out  before  a  free- 
born  cat  whose  hardihood  is  tempered  by  discre 
tion, 

"  Quickened  with  touches  of  transporting  fear." 

Of  all  these  things,  Mme.  Ronner's  darlings,  snug 
in  their  silken  bondage,  reveal  nothing.  But  turn 
to  Briton  Riviere's  spirited  "  Blockade  Runner,"  in 
the  Tate  Gallery  of  London.  See  how  his  cat  flat 
tens  herself  upon  the  wall  along  which  she  scuttles, 
while  the  frantic  dogs  dance  helplessly  beneath. 
What  concentration  of  purpose  in  that  swift  yet 
stealthy  pace.  She  lowers  her  ears,  and  shortens 
her  legs,  and  depresses  her  tail,  until  she  is  little 
more  than  a  moving  shadow  on  the  bricks.  Hatred 
fires  her  heart ;  terror  speeds  her  on  her  way.  The 
king  in  his  palace  is  not  more  safe  than  she,  yet 


i24  THE    FIRESIDE    SPHINX 

never  for  an  instant  is  her  vigilance  relaxed.  She 
is  the  inheritor  of  ancient  animosity  and  of  ancient 
wrongs. 

Another  and  equally  admirable  view  of  plebeian 
cathood  is  presented  in  a  picture  by  Claus  Meyer, 
which  is  one  of  the  gems  of  the  modern  gallery  in 
Dresden.  Three  women  sit  gossiping  in  the  bare 
grey  sacristy  of  a  church  or  convent,  and  three 
young  cats  sit  near  them  on  the  floor ;  —  gutter 
cats  these,  rough-coated,  scrawny,  suspicious  from 
infancy  of  a  dubious  world.  A  shallow  dish  of  milk 
has  been  set  forth  for  their  refreshment ;  but  only 
one  ventures  hesitatingly,  and,  with  her  gaze  fixed 
on  her  companions,  to  lap  a  very  little.  The  other 
two  eye  each  other  cautiously  from  a  safe  distance. 
The  smallest  and  raggedest  of  the  group  is  a  mere 
kitten,  all  ears  and  neck  after  the  fashion  of  its 
kind,  owlish  in  aspect,  and  wise  with  uncanny  wis 
dom.  Little 

"  Cat-gossips  full  of  Canterbury  tales," 

and  only  waiting  for  matured  acquaintance  to  ex 
change  confidences  that  will  put  mere  human  scan 
dal  to  the  blush,  they  are  all  three  adorable  in  their 
hideousness.  To  the  true  lover  of  the  race,  shining 
fur  and  rounded  limbs  are  not  the  only  charms. 

"  He  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek," 

or  its  feline  equivalent,  may  lose  much  in  the  char- 


THE  CAT  IN  ART 


125 


acter,  the  astuteness,  the  hundred  winning  and 
delightful  traits  that  oftenest  accompany  humble 
parentage,  and  a  plain  little  grey  and  black  coat. 
Many  a  common  puss  holds  the  hearts  of  a  house 
hold  in  her  keeping,  because  of  qualities  too  subtle 
to  be  denned,  too  dominant  to  be  resisted  or 
ignored.  When  we  know  just  what  it  is  that  we 
value  in  friend  or  cat,  the  analysis  blights  our  af 
fection. 


W^W^ff 


CHAPTER   VII 
TUP:   CAT   TRIUMPHANT 

"  He  stood,  an  ebon  crescent,  flouting  that  ivory  moon, 
Then  raised  the  pibroch  of  his  race,  the  Song  without  a  Tune.'' 

OUT  of  the  murky  shadows  which  shroud 
the  cat  during  long  centuries  of  passive 
neglect  or  active  persecution,  there  gleam 
here  and  there  flashes  of  brilliant  light  in  which  we 
see  her  sheltered  by  those  whose  protection  was  an 
honour,  cherished  by  those  whose  love  was  a  conse 
cration.  In  Italy,  poets  as  well  as  painters  felt  the 
sweet  charm  of  her  companionship,  and  strove  to 
give  their  sympathy  expression.  Tasso  addressed 
to  his  cat  a  sonnet  brimming  with  tender  flattery ; 
and  of  Petrarch's  pet  it  has  been  prettily  said  that 
she  was  her  master's  joy  in  the  sunshine,  his  solace 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  127 

in  the  shade.  When  she  died,  her  little  body  was 
carefully  embalmed ;  and  travellers  who  visited 
Arqua,  and  the  poet's  home,  hidden  among  the 
Euganean  Hills,  have  stared  and  mocked  and  won 
dered  at  this  poor  semblance  of  cathood,  this  fur- 
less,  withered  mummy,  which,  more  than  five  hun 
dred  years  ago,  frolicked  softly  in  the  joyousness 
of  youth.  Upon  the  marble  slab  on  which  she  lay 
were  cut  two  epigrams  by  Antonius  Quserengus, 
one  of  which  gracefully  commemorated  the  rival 
passions  that  shared  Petrarch's  heart.  "  Maximus 
ignis  ego ;  Laura  secundus  erat."  Doubtless  of 
these  conflicting  emotions,  the  more  simple  and 
sincere  was  the  poet's  affection  for  his  cat. 

As  we  search  for  Pussy's  records  in  literature, 
that  we  may  better  trace  her  half-hidden  history 
through  several  centuries  of  fluctuating  fortunes, 
we  find  that  the  striking  of  the  personal  note  in 
variably  heralds  a  growing  appreciation  and  esteem. 
When  she  figures  in  folk-lore,  she  is  unsanctified 
and  maleficent,  a  candidate  for  "  the  uncharitable 
votes  of  Hell."  In  proverbs,  she  serves  as  an  illus 
tration  of  characteristics  without  charm,  and  of  wis 
dom  without  distinction.  In  fable,  she  —  or  he  — 
is,  for  the  most  part,  a  clever  hypocrite,  the  Rami- 
nagrobis  of  La  Fontaine,  the  Tybert  of  "  Reineke 
Fuchs."  This  latter  rascal,  if  less  sanctimonious 
than  the  chatemite,  or  than  the  austere  hermit  of 


128  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

the  Ganges,  is  still  an  unscrupulous  knave,  and  for 
that  reason,  and  that  alone,  is  chosen  as  ambassa 
dor  by  his  great  kinsman,  the  Lion. 

"  'T  was  then  agreed  the  Cat  should  try 
If  he  could  not  the  Fox  outvie 
In  trickery  and  dissimulation, 
And  thus  do  service  to  the  nation. 
For  he  was,  by  all  men's  admission, 
A  wary,  skilful  politician." 

Frankly  does  the  King  of  the  Beasts  admit  the 
cousinship  and  honourable  station  of  his  little  rela 
tive.  There  is  respect,  mingled  with  cajolery,  in  the 
monarch's  parting  words. 

"  Tybert,  forget  not,  I  beseech, 
How  far  back  doth  your  lineage  reach  ; 
Much  farther  back  than  mice  and  rats, 
Which  but  created  were  for  cats. 
So  foolish  folks  who  sometime  curse  them, 
Were  only  made  that  they  might  nurse  them. 
Never  forget,  I  pray,  that  ye 
Spring  from  our  old  nobility." 

"  Well  taught  you  are,  and  quick  and  wise, 
Fulfilled  of  wit  in  all  men's  eyes  ; 
And  plenteous  therefore  is  my  hope 
That  with  this  sinner  you  may  cope. 
For  craft  with  craft  may  better  fight, 
Than  mere  brute  strength  that  lacks  foresight." 

Tybert  is  foiled  by  the  arch-villany  of  the  Fox.  He 
comes  to  grief,  and  his  prestige  fades  before  Rey 
nard's  superior  knavery;  yet,  even  in  defeat,  his 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  129 

wariness  saves  him  from  the  utter  ruin  of  nobler 
and  duller  beasts. 

In  the  fable,  as  in  folk-lore,  it  is  always  astute 
rascality  which  wins  a  final  triumph.  Honesty  is 
never  the  best  policy,  and  the  Master  Thief  still 
shines,  a  dazzling  hero,  despite  our  centuries  of 
ethics.  Not  for  his  integrity  do  we  value  Puss-in- 
Boots,  that  hardy  and  brilliant  impostor,  who  lifted 
the  miller's  son  on  the  crest  of  his  splendid  lies 
until  he  landed  the  stupid  lout,  who  could  n't  lie 
for  himself,  at  the  foot  of  a  throne,  with  a  princess 
for  a  bride.  "  Puss-in-Boots  "  was  translated  from 
Italian  into  French  in  1585,  and  from  French  into 
English  a  few  years  later ;  but  the  story  itself  is 
very,  very  old.  Like  so  many  fairy  tales,  it  may 
be  traced  to  India,  where  the  cat's  part  was  origi 
nally  played  by  a  fox,  — a  fox  as  unscrupulous  as 
Rcineke,  but  more  faithful,  through  whose  cunning 
and  devotion  a  peasant  lad  becomes  the  son-in-law 
of  a  king.  The  surpassing  cynicism  of  the  Eastern 
tale  lies  in  the  ingratitude  of  the  peasant,  who, 
having  reached  the  summit  of  his  ambition,  has 
no  further  need  of  his  colleague,  and  drives  him 
shamefully  from  the  palace  doors.  One  is  glad  that 
this  touch  of  unutterable  baseness  has  never  con 
taminated  our  nurseries ;  and  that  all  children  who 
rejoice  —  as  good  children  should  —  in  the  trium 
phant  scampishness  of  Puss-in-Boots,  are  told  in 


i3o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

the  concluding  sentence  of  his  history  that,  after 
his  master's  elevation,  he  was  so  well  fed,  he  never 
hunted  mice  any  more,  save  for  exercise  and  amuse 
ment. 

"  The  White  Cat,"  one  of  the  prettiest  and  most 
popular  of  fairy  stories,  comes  from  France.  The 
Comtesse  D'Aunoy  gave  it  to  her  grateful  country 
in  1682  ;  and  if  the  central  theme  of  three  rival 
brothers  bringing  home  the  wonders  of  the  world 
be  nearly  as  old  as  the  world  itself,  yet  the  charm 
ing  figure  of  the  Cat  —  as  lovely  in  her  white  fur, 
and  with  pattes  de  velours,  as  after  her  transforma 
tion  into  a  Princess  —  is  distinctly  modern,  and 
marks  the  fast  swelling  tide  of  admiration  for  fe 
line  beauty,  which  during  centuries  of  darkness  had 
been  stupidly  and  blindly  ignored.  In  France  it 
was  Pussy's  grace  and  sweetness  which  triumphed 
finally  over  prejudice.  In  England  and  in  Germany 
it  was  the  recognition  of  her  domestic  qualities 
which  won  her,  first  tolerance,  then  esteem,  then 
loving  and  loyal  devotion.  Slowly  and  surely  it 
dawned  upon  dim  mortal  minds  that  a  house  is 
transformed  into  a  home  when  the  small  fireside 
Sphinx  takes  tranquil  possession  of  its  chimney- 
corner.  With  this  discovery  came  the  elevation  of 
individual  pussies  to  the  scrutiny,  and  consequently 
to  the  admiration,  of  the  world.  The  personal  note 
was  struck,  and  the  victory  of  the  cat  was  won. 


THE  CAT  TRIUiMPHANT  131 

Herrick,  as  might  be  imagined,  was  the  first  of 
English  poets  to  feel  the  charm  of  her  presence  by 
his  hearth.  In  that  pleasant  Devonshire  vicarage 
where  each  season  brought  its  appropriate  joys ; 
which,  in  fancy,  we  see  decked  with  the  hawthorn 
boughs  of  May,  and  with  the  holly  and  mistletoe  of 
Christmas  tide  ;  where  the  Bride-cake  and  the  was 
sail-bowl, 

"  Spiced  to  the  brink," 

passed  cheerfully  around  in  the  glittering  firelight ; 
where  the  "  little  buttery  "  and  "  little  bin  "  were 
well  stocked  with  more  than  pulse  and  water-cress  ; 
—  surely  this  sweet  old  manse,  sunshiny,  rose-cov 
ered,  cowslip-scented,  was  the  fitting  Paradise  for  a 
cat.  One  envies  the  happy  puss  who  spent  her 
days  amid  such  pastoral  plenty. 

"  A  cat 
I  keep,  that  plays  about  my  house, 

Grown  fat 
With  eating  many  a  miching  mouse," 

writes  Herrick  when  counting  up  his  "  private 
wealth  ; "  and  when  he  urges  the  pleasures  of  a 
country  life  —  which  none  knew  better  than  he  — 
upon  his  town-bred  brother,  this  is  one  of  the  allure 
ments  he  has  to  offer  : 

"  Yet  can  thy  humble  roof  maintaine  a  quire 

Of  singing  crickets  by  thy  fire ; 

And  the  brisk  mouse  may  feast  herselfe  with  crumbs, 
Till  that  the  green-eyed  kitling  comes." 


132  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Nothing  could  be  prettier  than  these  four  lines. 
They  surpass  even  the  four  lines  in  Heine's  "  Fire 
side  Piece,"  where  the  poet  sits  meditating  by  the 
hearth,  while  his  cat,  close  cuddled,  drowsy  with 
warmth,  purrs  a  soft  refrain  to  his  rhythmic  dreams. 
They  find  their  echo  in  that  charming  letter  of 
Shelley's  to  Peacock,  which  describes  the  shrines 
of  the  Penates,  "  whose  hymns  are  the  purring  of 
kittens,  the  hissing  of  kettles,  the  long  talks  over 
the  past  and  dead,  the  laugh  of  children,  the  warm 
wind  of  summer  filling  the  quiet  house,  and  the 
pelting  storm  of  winter  struggling  in  vain  for  en 
trance." 

Such  things  bring  peace  to  our  souls  ;  even  the 
reading  of  them  is  fraught  with  an  exquisite  sense 
of  tranquillity ;  but  be  it  remembered  that  little 
kittens  purr  the  first  soft  notes  of  this  domestic 
hymn. 

Herrick  alone  in  his  generation  paid  tribute  to 
Pussy's  fireside  qualities.  Other  English  poets  had 
observed  her  valour  and  grace  ;  and  George  Turber- 
ville,  half  a  century  earlier,  had  expressed  in  amor 
ous  verse  his  ardent  desire  to  be  a  cat,  inasmuch  as 
his  dear  Mistresse  greatly  feared  a  mouse. 

"  The  Squirrel  thinking  nought, 
That  feately  cracks  the  nut ; 
The  greedie  Goshawke  wanting  prey, 
In  dread  of  Death  doth  put ; 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  133 

But  scorning  all  these  kindes, 

I  would  become  a  Cat, 
To  combat  with  the  creeping  Mouse, 

And  scratch  the  screeking  Rat. 

"  I  would  be  present,  aye, 

And  at  my  Ladie's  call, 
To  gard  her  from  the  fearfull  Mouse, 

In  Parlour  and  in  Hall ; 
In  Kitchen,  for  his  Lyfe, 

He  should  not  shew  his  hed  ; 
The  Pease  in  Poke  should  lie  untoucht 

When  shee  were  gone  to  Bed. 

"  The  Mouse  should  stand  in  Feare, 

So  should  the  squeaking  Rat ; 
All  this  would  I  doe  if  I  were 
Converted  to  a  Cat." 

It  is  grateful  to  find  Pussy's  courage  and  devo 
tion  so  happily  vindicated ;  but  we  cannot  ignore 
the  fact  that  this  glowing  tribute  to  the  joys  of  war 
is  addressed  —  not  to  the  valorous  cat  the  poet  en 
vies  —  but  to  the  fair  coward  whom  he  loves.  In 
the  same  spirit  of  delicate  flattery,  Prior  inscribes 
some  verses  to  "  My  Lord  Buckhurst,  Very  young, 
Playing  with  a  Cat,"  which  begin 

"  The  am'rous  youth,  whose  tender  breast 
Was  by  his  darling  cat  possest, 
Obtained  of  Venus  his  desire  ;  " 

and  which  go  on  to  implore  the  little  lord  never  to 
prefer  "  so  rash  a  prayer,"  lest  the  goddess  of  love, 


134  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

beholding  his  beauty,  should  think  her  lost  Adonis 
restored  to  life,  and  grow  jealous  of  the  kitten  in 
his  arms.  These  pretty  conceits,  in  which  Pussy 
but  serves  to  illustrate  the  text,  have  nothing  in 
common  with  the  directness  of  Herrick,  or  with 
the  personal  studies  of  cat  and  kittenhood  which 
Cowper  and  Wordsworth  and  Matthew  Arnold  sub 
sequently  gave  to  the  world.  They  are  not  even 
akin  to  Gray's  famous  lines,  half  mocking  and  half 
piteous,  which  deplore  the  untimely  death  of  Wai- 
pole's  Selima,  "  Drowned  in  a  Tub  of  Gold  Fishes." 
That  Horace  Walpole  should  have  delighted  in  cats 
was  inevitable.  Their  beauty,  their  refinement, 
their  delicate  appreciation  of  luxurious  surround 
ings,  could  never  have  appealed  more  surely  to  any 
nature  than  to  his.  "  Not  English,"  was  the  cen 
sure  habitually  passed  upon  him  by  his  contempo 
raries,  to  whom  a  taste  for  curios,  and  a  distaste 
for  hard  drinking,  were  equally  unintelligible  eccen 
tricities.  Even  that  fine  statesman,  Lord  Minto, 
pronounced  him  "  a  prim,  precise,  pretending,  con 
ceited  savage  ;  but  a  most  un-English  one  ;  "  and  in 
proof,  either  of  his  primness,  or  of  the  gentle  char 
acter  of  his  savagery,  Walpole  loved  and  cherished 
cats.  When  his  favourite  met  her  tragic  death,  he 
wrote  to  Gray,  bewailing  the  loss  he  had  sustained ; 
and  the  poet,  in  doubt  as  to  which  of  his  friend's 
cats  had  been  drowned,  replied  with  a  playful  letter 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  135 

of  condolence,  ("  Learn,  my  son,  to  bear  tranquilly 
the  misfortunes  of  others,")  and  with  the  charming 
verses  which  have  immortalized  Selima's  memory. 

"  It  would  be  a  sensible  satisfaction  to  me,"  he 
wrote,  "  before  I  testify  my  sorrow,  and  the  sincere 
part  I  take  in  your  calamity,  to  know  for  certain 
who  it  is  I  lament.  I  knew  Zara  and  Selima,  (Se- 
lima,  was  it,  or  Fatima  ?)  or  rather  I  knew  them 
both  together ;  for  I  cannot  justly  say  which  was 
which.  Then  as  to  your  'handsome  Cat,' the  name 
you  distinguish  her  by,  I  am  no  less  at  a  loss,  as 
well  knowing  one's  handsome  cat  is  always  the  cat 
one  loves  best  ;  or,  if  one  be  alive  and  one  dead,  it 
is  usually  the  latter  which  is  the  handsomer.  Be 
sides,  if  the  point  were  never  so  clear,  I  hope  you 
do  not  think  me  so  ill-bred  or  so  imprudent  as  to 
forfeit  all  my  interest  in  the  survivor.  Oh,  no !  I 
would  rather  seem  to  mistake,  and  to  imagine  to  be 
sure  it  must  be  the  tabby  one  that  has  met  with 
this  sad  accident" 

The  poem  which  accompanied  the  letter,  and  a 
portion  of  which  was  subsequently  inscribed  upon 
the  pedestal  which  held  the  ill-omened  bowl,  is 
familiar  to  all  readers  of  English  verse  ;  but  no  book 
upon  cats  would  be  complete  without  it. 

"  'T  was  on  a  lofty  vase's  side, 
Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 
The  azure  flowers  that  blow  ; 


136  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Demurest  of  the  tabby  kind, 

The  pensive  Selima  reclined, 

Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 


"  Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared ; 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard, 

The  velvet  of  her  paws, 
Her  coat  that  with  the  tortoise  vies, 
Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes, 
She  saw,  and  purred  applause. 

"  Still  had  she  gazed,  but  'midst  the  tide 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide, 

The  Genii  of  the  stream  : 
Their  scaly  armour's  Tyrian  hue, 
Through  richest  purple,  to  the  view 

Betrayed  a  golden  gleam. 

"  The  hapless  Nymph  with  wonder  saw  : 
A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw, 

With  many  an  ardent  wish, 
She  stretched  in  vain  to  reach  the  prize ; 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise  ? 

What  Cat 's  averse  to  fish  ? 

"  Presumptuous  Maid  !  with  looks  intent, 
Again  she  stretched,  again  she  bent, 

Nor  knew  the  gulf  between. 
(Malignant  Fate  sat  by  and  smiled  :) 
The  slippery  verge  her  feet  beguiled, 

She  tumbled  headlong  in. 

"  Eight  times  emerging  from  the  flood, 
She  mewed  to  every  watery  God 
Some  speedy  aid  to  send. 


THE  CAT  TRIUiMPHANT  137 

No  Dolphin  came,  no  Nereid  stirred, 
Nor  cruel  Tom,  nor  Susan  heard ; 
A  Favourite  has  no  friend  ! 

"  From  hence,  ye  Beauties,  undeceived, 
Know  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved, 

And  be  with  caution  bold. 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wandering  eyes 
And  heedless  hearts  is  lawful  prize ; 

Nor  all  that  glisters,  gold." 

Mr.  Edmund  Gosse,  in  his  notes  on  this  poem, 
objects  to  Gray's  use  of  the  word  "  tabby,"  "as  if  it 
were  synonymous  with  female  cat."  "  Selima,"  he 
says,  "  cannot  have  been  a  tabby,  if,  as  we  presently 
read,  she  was  a  tortoise-shell.  Tabby  cats  are  those 
whose  fur  is  of  a  cold  brindled  grey,  like  the  surface 
of  the  rich  watered  silk  from  Bagdad,  called  'attabi, 
and,  in  English,  tabby."  Mr.  Harrison  Weir,  how 
ever,  who  is  an  excellent  authority  upon  cats,  points 
out  conclusively  that  the  word  tabby,  though  de 
rived  from  ribbed  or  watered  silk,  refers  to  the 
markings  only,  and  does  not  designate  any  especial 
colour.  He  quotes,  to  prove  his  words,  two  lines 
of  English  verse,  dating  from  1682, 

"  Her  petticoat  of  satin, 
Her  gown  of  crimson  tabby." 

A  brindled  or  brinded  cat, 

"  Thrice  the  brinded  cat  hath  mewed," 

is  the  same  as  a  tabby,  and  in  Norfolk  and  Suffolk 


138  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

is  still  often  called  a  Cyprus  cat ;  though  the  cloth 
woven  of  hair  and  silk  in  wavy  lines,  and  originally 
brought  from  Cyprus,  (as  were  many  cats,)  has  dis 
appeared  from  English  markets  for  perhaps  two 
hundred  years.  Cats  can  be  "brindled  tortoise- 
shell,"  and  are  occasionally  so  described ;  though, 
when  well-bred,  the  colour  lies  in  broad  deep 
blotches,  rather  than  in  bars.  That  Gray  did  not 
mean  to  indicate  Selima's  sex  by  the  word  tabby  — 
an  inaccuracy  of  which  the  precise  little  poet  was 
wholly  incapable  —  is  proven  by  the  letter  in  which 
he  refers  to  Fatima  and  Selima,  both  plainly  fe 
males,  and  says,  "  I  would  rather  seem  to  mistake, 
and  to  imagine  to  be  sure  it  must  be  the  tabby  one 
that  has  met  with  this  sad  accident." 

After  Herrick,  no  English  poet  seems  to  have 
fully  recognized  the  domestic  qualities  of  the  cat 
until  Cowper  paid  her  his  litttle  tribute  of  song. 
From  Goldsmith,  indeed,  we  have  the  pretty  verse 
which  illustrates  his  cheerful  British  conception  of 
a  hermitage. 

"  Around,  in  sympathetic  mirth, 

Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries  ; 
The  cricket  chirrups  on  the  hearth, 
The  crackling  fagot  flies." 

But  Cowper  is  more  explicit.  The  well-ordered 
household  at  Olney  must  necessarily  have  been 
dominated  by  a  cat.  It  offered  precisely  the  atmos- 


THE  CAT  TRlUiMPHANT  139 

phere  in  which  Puss  is  born  to  reign.  Warm  fires 
by  which  to  purr  and  drowse ;  a  bountiful  tea-table 
amply  provided  with  cream  ;  the  swirling  of  autumn 
leaves  around  the  garden  paths  if  a  little  brisk  exer 
cise  was  desired  ;  a  comfortable  supply  of  over-fed 
mice  when  conscience  suggested  work  ;  eight  pairs 
of  tame  pigeons  when  Satan  prompted  mischief. 
There  were,  to  be  sure,  other  pets  ;  too  many  of 
them,  by  far,  from  a  cat's  point  of  view;  —  gold 
finches,  canaries,  and  a  caged  linnet,  all  jealously 
guarded  from  hostility  ;  the  spaniel  Beau,  a  foolish 
squirrel,  two  imbecile  guinea-pigs,  and  the  ever- 
famous  hares,  "canonized  pets  of  literature,"  with 
surly  tempers  that  brooked  no  liberties.  "  One 
evening,"  writes  Lady  Hesketh,  "  the  cat  giving  one 
of  the  hares  a  sound  box  on  the  ear,  the  hare  ran 
after  her,  and  punished  her  by  drumming  on  her 
back  with  two  feet  as  hard  as  drumsticks,  till  the 
poor  creature  would  actually  have  been  killed,  had 
not  Mrs.  Unwin  rescued  her." 

This  was  worse  than  encountering  vipers,  or  being 
shut  up  in  a  drawer.  The  tranquil  home  at  Olney 
was  not  without  its  dangers  and  alarms,  and  Cowper 
did  his  cat  the  honour  of  immortalizing  two  of  her 
adventures.  In  that  "delightful  '  lusus  poeticus]  " 
as  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  has  kindly  christened  "The 
Colubriad,"  he  narrates  her  rescue,  at  his  own  hands, 
from  the  snake  which  she  was  softly  patting  with 


140  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

all  the  temerity  of  ignorance,  "  not  in  anger,  but  in 
the  way  of  philosophic  inquiry  and  examination." 

"  As  curious  as  the  kittens  erst  had  been, 
To  learn  what  this  phenomenon  might  mean." 

Cowper,  who  always  made  a  point  of  looking  at 
things  before  he  described  them,  which  habit  en 
abled  him  to  convince  eighteenth  century  readers 
that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  Nature,  watched  the 
three  kittens  gathered  close  around  the  viper,  re 
garding  him  with  polite  attention,  and  speculating 
innocently  on  his  possibilities  as  a  playmate. 

"  Forth  from  his  head  his  forked  tongue  he  throws, 
Darting  it  full  against  a  kitten's  nose  ; 
Who,  never  having  seen  in  field  or  house 
The  like,  sat  still  and  silent  as  a  mouse ; 
Only  projecting,  with  attention  due, 
Her  whiskered  face,  she  asked  him,  '  Who  are  you  ? ' " 

He  also  watched  on  more  than  one  occasion  their 
sedate  and  serious  parent,  the  "  Retired  Cat,"  who 
loved,  like  himself,  a  quiet  corner  in  which  to  sit 
and  think. 

"  I  know  not  where  she  caught  the  trick,  — 

Nature  perhaps  herself  had  cast  her 
•  In  such  a  mould  philosophique, 

Or  else  she  learned  it  of  her  Master. 
Sometimes  ascending,  debonnaire, 
An  apple-tree,  or  lofty  pear, 
Lodged  with  convenience  in  the  fork, 
She  watched  the  gardener  at  his  work  ; 
Sometimes  her  ease  and  solace  sought 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  141 

In  an  old  empty  watering-pot ; 
There  wanting  nothing  save  a  fan, 
To  seem  some  nymph  in  her  sedan, 
Apparelled  in  exactest  sort, 
And  ready  to  be  borne  to  Court." 

Finally  her  taste  for  seclusion  beguiled  her  into 
an  open  drawer  half  full  of  linen,  delicately  laid 
away  in  fragrant  lavender  by  Mrs.  Unwin's  careful 
fingers. 

"  Puss,  with  delight  beyond  expression, 
Surveyed  the  scene,  and  took  possession. 
Recumbent  at  her  ease  erelong, 
And  lulled  by  her  own  humdrum  song, 
She  left  the  cares  of  life  behind, 
And  slept  as  she  would  sleep  her  last ; 
When  in  came,  housewifely  inclined, 
The  chambermaid,  and  shut  it  fast, 
By  no  malignity  impelled, 
But  all  unconscious  whom  it  held." 

For  two  days  and  a  night  the  little  prisoner  re 
mained  immured  in  her  dungeon,  and  then  at  last 
her 

"  long  and  melancholy  mew  " 

reached  the  sleepless  poet's  ears,  and  he  hastened 
to  save  another  of  her  lives  by  pulling  open  the 
drawer. 

The  advent  of  a  new  and  very  frolicsome  tor 
toise-shell  kitten  filled  Cowper  with  delight,  and  he 
describes  her  enthusiastically  in  a  letter  to  Lady 
Hesketh.  —  "  In  point  of  size,  she  is  likely  to  be  a 


H2  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

kitten  always,  being  extremely  small  for  her  age ; 
but  time,  I  suppose,  that  spoils  everything,  will  make 
her  also  a  cat.  You  will  see  her,  I  hope,  before 
that  melancholy  period  shall  arrive  ;  for  no  wisdom 
that  she  may  gain  by  experience  will  compensate 
her  for  the  loss  of  her  present  hilarity." 

What  would  the  poet's  pleasant  winter  evenings 
have  been  worth,  if  uncheered  by  such  gay  com 
panionship  ? 

With  the  waning  of  the  eighteenth  century  and 
the  dawn  of  its  successor,  the  English  cat  assumes 
a  more  intimate  place  in  letters.  Never  granted 
the  tender  and  flattering  preeminence  of  her 
French  sister,  she  is  in  some  sort  recompensed  by 
the  tranquil  domestic  atmosphere,  the  fireside 
warmth  and  glow  in  which  we  see  her  play  her 
gentle  part.  For  a  hundred  years  and  more  she 
had  not  wanted  friends.  In  1702  the  Duchess  of 
Richmond,  that  fair  and  lovable  creature  who  had 
"less  wit  and  more  beauty  "  than  any  lady  at  court, 
bequeathed  a  maintenance  to  her  old  servants,  her 
old  cats,  and  to  several  old  gentlewomen  whom  she 
had  long  befriended.  It  was  this  bounty  that  pro 
voked  from  Pope  the  ever-quoted  line, 

"  Die,  and  endow  a  college  or  a  cat :  " 

but  to  most  of  us  it  would  seem  as  though  such 
gracious  kindness  merited  a  less  satiric  recogni- 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  143 

tion.  Lord  Chesterfield,  to  whom  the  urbane  com 
panionship  of  his  cats  brought  many  a  soothing 
hour,  also  provided  like  an  honourable  gentleman 
for  these  little  comrades  who  otherwise  had  been 
left  homeless  at  his  death.  Sir  Isaac  Newton's 
affectionate  solicitude  for  his  cat  and  kittens  is 
well  known,  while  the  records  of  humbler  life  show 
many  similar  instances  of  benignity.  Fielding,  in 
his  pathetic  "Voyage  to  Lisbon,"  vouches  for  the 
high  regard -in  which  the  ship's  cat  and  her  trouble 
some  young  family  were  held  by  the  captain  and 
his  crew.  On  the  nth  of  July,  when  off  Spithead, 
he  writes  in  his  Journal :  — 

"A  most  tragical  incident  fell  out  this  day  at 
sea.  While  the  ship  was  under  sail,  but  making, 
as  will  appear,  no  great  way,  a  kitten,  one  of  the 
four  feline  inhabitants  of  the  cabin,  fell  from  the 
window  into  the  water.  An  alarm  was  immediately 
given  to  the  captain,  who  was  then  upon  deck,  and 
who  received  it  with  many  bitter  oaths.  He  im 
mediately  gave  orders  to  the  steersman  in  favour 
of  the  poor  thing,  as  he  called  it ;  the  sails  were 
instantly  slackened,  and  all  hands  employed  to  re 
cover  the  animal.  I  was,  I  own,  surprised  at  this ; 
less,  indeed,  at  the  captain's  extreme  tenderness, 
than  at  his  conceiving  any  possibility  of  success ; 
for  if  Puss  had  had  nine  thousand  instead  of  nine 
lives,  I  concluded  they  had  all  been  lost.  The 


144  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

boatswain,  however,  was  more  sanguine ;  for  hav 
ing  stripped  himself  of  his  jacket,  breeches,  and 
shirt,  he  leaped  boldly  into  the  water,  and,  to  my 
great  astonishment,  in  a  few  minutes  returned 
to  the  ship,  bearing  the  motionless  animal  in  his 
mouth.  Nor  was  this,  I  observed,  a  matter  of  such 
great  difficulty  as  it  appeared  to  my  ignorance,  and 
possibly  may  seem  to  that  of  my  fresh-water  reader. 
The  kitten  was  now  exposed  to  air  and  sun  on  the 
deck,  where  its  life,  of  which  it  retained  no  symp 
toms,  was  despaired  of  by  all. 

"  The  captain's  humanity  did  not  so  totally  destroy 
his  philosophy  as  to  make  him  yield  himself  up  to 
affliction.  Having  felt  his  loss  like  a  man,  he  re 
solved  to  show  he  could  bear  it  like  one ;  and,  after 
declaring  he  had  rather  have  lost  a  cask  of  rum  or 
brandy,  he  betook  himself  to  threshing  at  back 
gammon  with  the  Portuguese  friar,  in  which  inno 
cent  amusement  they  passed  their  leisure  hours." 

Strange  to  say,  this  much  prized  kitten  recovered 
from  its  prolonged  submersion,  only  to  be  found 
smothered  in  a  cabin  bed  a  few  days  later,  having 
recklessly  squandered  all  its  little  lives  before  one 
of  them  reached  maturity. 

Steele  makes  constant  allusions  to  his  cat  in  the 
"  Tatler,"  •  -  pretty  homelike  allusions,  all  of  them, 
though  no  man  was  more  impatient  than  he  of  the 
prodigal  affection  lavished  by  ladies  upon  their  pets. 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  145 

Who  does  not  remember  how  Flavia  buried  with 
equanimity  two  husbands  and  five  children,  but 
never  recovered  from  the  loss  of  her  parrot  ?  "  I 
know  at  this  Time,"  he  complains,  "  a  celebrated 
Toast,  whom  I  allow  to  be  one  of  the  most  agree 
able  of  her  Sex,  yet  who,  in  the  presence  of  her 
Admirers,  will  give  a  Torrent  of  Kisses  to  her  Cat, 
any  one  of  which  a  Christian  would  be  glad  of." 

His  own  caresses  were  of  a  more  temperate  char 
acter.  The  first  thing  he  did,  on  reaching  home, 
was  to  stir  his  fire  and  stroke  his  cat ;  and  he  con 
tented  himself  night  after  night  with  the  silent 
company  of  Pussy  and  her  friend,  a  little  dog 
whom,  from  long  association,  she  had  learned  first 
to  endure,  then  to  appreciate,  and  then  almost  to 
love. 

"  They  both  of  them  sit  by  my  Fire  every  Even 
ing,  and  await  my  return  with  Impatience ;  and,  at 
my  Entrance,  never  fail  of  running  up  to  me,  and 
bidding  me  Welcome,  each  of  them  in  its  proper 
Language.  As  they  have  been  bred  up  together 
from  Infancy,  and  have  seen  no  other  Company, 
they  have  acquired  each  other's  Manners ;  so  that 
the  Dog  often  gives  himself  the  Airs  of  a  Cat,  and 
the  Cat,  in  several  of  her  Motions  and  Gestures, 
affects  the  Behaviour  of  the  little  Dog." 

On  one  occasion  some  audacious  rogues  pene 
trated  into  this  quiet  sanctuary,  and  endeavoured  to 


146  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

persuade  Mr.  Bickerstaff  that  they  could  turn  water 
into  wine  by  merely  adding  to  it  a  few  drops  of 
some  mysterious  elixir.  He  asked  to  see  and  taste 
this  potent  drug,  and  then  —  forgetful  of  friend 
ship  and  unworthy  of  confidence  —  ventured  upon 
a  most  unpardonable  experiment. 

"My  Cat  at  this  Time  sat  by  me  on  the  Elbow 
of  my  Chair ;  and,  as  I  did  not  care  to  make  the 
Trial  myself,  I  reached  it  to  her  to  sip  of  it,  which 
had  like  to  cost  her  her  Life.  For  notwithstanding 
that  it  flung  her  at  first  into  freakish  Tricks,  quite 
contrary  to  her  usual  Gravity,  in  less  than  a  Quarter 
of  an  Hour  she  fell  into  Convulsions ;  and,  had  she 
not  been  a  Creature  more  tenacious  of  Life  than 
any  other,  she  would  certainly  have  died  under  the 
Operation. 

"  I  was  so  incensed  by  the  Tortures  of  my  inno 
cent  Domestick,  and  by  the  wicked  dealings  of  these 
Men,  that  I  told  them  if  each  of  them  had  as  many 
Lives  as  the  injured  Creature  before  us,  they  de 
served  to  forfeit  them  for  the  pernicious  Arts  which 
they  used  for  their  Profit." 

After  all,  who  gave  the  cat  the  poisonous  stuff  ? 
Steele's  virtuous  indignation  at  the  consequence  of 
his  own  act  must  have  amused  Dr.  Johnson,  who 
bade  Miss  Susan  Thrale  read  Bickerstaff 's  account 
of  his  pet.  It  was  not  in  such  fashion  that  the 
great  scholar  cherished  his  own  cats.  When  we 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  147 

come  to  them  in  the  natural  sequence  of  history, 
we  feel  we  are  on  the  borderland  between  the  old 
life  and  the  new  ;  between  the  tepid  affection  or 
playful  panegyrics  which  characterized  the  eigh 
teenth  century,  and  the  more  sincere  emotions 
which  succeeded.  Dr.  Johnson  died  sixteen  years 
before  Cowper,  yet  it  is  plain  that  his  sentiment 
for  Hodge  was  something  very  different  from  the 
temperate  regard  of  the  poet,  based  upon  unworthy 
utilitarianism.  Cowper,  it  is  true,  killed  the  viper, 
lest  it  should  rob  the  Olney  household  of  the 

"  only  cat 
That  was  of  age  to  combat  with  a  rat ;  " 

but  Johnson  would  have  slain  a  wilderness  of  vipers 
without  thought  of  a  mouse  in  the  cupboard.  "  In 
dulgence  "  is  the  term  applied  by  Bos  well — who 
cordially  hated  cats  —  to  his  patron's  amiable  weak 
ness  ;  and  it  is  plain  that  it  cost  him  some  effort  to 
sympathize  with  so  strange  a  partiality. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  the  indulgence  with  which 
he  treated  Hodge,  his  cat,  for  whom  he  himself 
used  to  go  out  and  buy  oysters,  lest  the  servants, 
having  that  trouble,  should  take  a  dislike  to  the 
poor  creature.  I  am,  unluckily,  one  of  those  who 
have  such  an  antipathy  to  a  cat  that  I  am  uneasy 
when  I  am  in  the  room  with  one ;  and  I  own  I  fre 
quently  suffered  a  good  deal  from  the  presence  of 
this  same  Hodge. 


148  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

"  I  recollect  him  one  day  scrambling  up  Dr.  John 
son's  breast,  apparently  with  much  satisfaction, 
while  my  friend,  smiling  and  half  whistling,  rubbed 
down  his  back  and  pulled  him  by  the  tail ;  and, 
when  I  observed  he  was  a  fine  cat,  saying,  '  Why 
yes,  sir,  but  I  have  had  cats  whom  I  liked  better 
than  this  ; '  and  then,  as  if  perceiving  Hodge  to  be 
out  of  countenance,  adding,  '  but  he  is  a  very  fine 
cat,  a  very  fine  cat  indeed.' 

"  This  reminds  me  of  the  ludicrous  account  which 
he  gave  Mr.  Langton  of  the  despicable  state  of  a 
young  gentleman  of  good  family :  '  Sir,  when  I 
heard  of  him  last,  he  was  running  about  town 
shooting  cats.'  And  then,  in  a  sort  of  kindly  rev 
erie,  he  bethought  himself  of  his  own  favourite,  and 
said,  '  but  Hodge  shan't  be  shot ;  no,  no,  Hodge 
shall  not  be  shot.'  ' 

Since  Montaigne  played  with  his  cat  in  sleepy 
Perigord,  there  has  been  no  simpler  or  finer  pic 
ture  than  this  of  mutual  understanding  and  regard. 
When  we  consider  Dr.  Johnson's  unconcern  at  put 
ting  mere  mortals  "out  of  countenance,"  and  his 
occasional  indignation  that  they  should  presume  to 
have  their  feelings  crushed  under  the  heavy  sledge 
hammer  of  his  wit,  we  cannot  help  feeling  that  this 
nice  regard  for  the  sensitiveness  of  a  cat  shows 
what  a  humanizing  influence  Hodge  had  upon  his 
master.  I  wonder  if  the  "  white  kitling,"  Lilly, 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  149 

was  the  pussy  whom  Johnson  "  liked  better  "  than 
Hodge.  On  this  point  no  light  has  ever  been 
thrown ;  but  Lilly  was  fair  to  see,  and  Hodge, 
though  Boswell  politely  called  him  a  fine  cat,  ap 
pears  to  have  been  but  modestly  endowed  in  re 
spect  to  personal  beauty.  He  had  parts,  and  he 
had  that  rare  gift  of  sympathy  which  is  so  seldom 
manifested  by  his  race,  perhaps  because  there  is  so 
little  in  most  of  us  to  quicken  it.  His  was  a  happy 
fate.  To  sit  purring  on  Johnson's  knee,  secure  of 
kindness,  safe  from  that  forcible  contempt  which 
no  one  but  Boswell  could  bear  smilingly ;  to  be  fed 
with  oysters  by  that  generous  hand,  and  to  be  im 
mortalized  by  the  companionship  which  crowned  his 
little  life  with  content ;  —  this  seems  to  me  the  best 
of  feline  fortunes,  equalled  only,  and  not  surpassed, 
by  the  joy  of  being  Sir  Walter's  cat  at  Abbotsford. 
Of  Hinse  of  Hinsefeld  it  becomes  us  to  speak 
with  respect.  Staid  in  demeanour,  irreproachable 
in  conduct,  happily  mingling  affability  with  reserve, 
a  courteous  cat  along  old-fashioned,  gentlemanly 
lines,  he  maintained  the  dignity  of  his  position 
through  many  tranquil  years.  For  his  master  he 
entertained  a  steadfast  affection,  the  affection 
which,  as  we  well  know,  Scott  inspired  in  every 
animal  he  met.  Cat  or  dog,  pig  or  hen,  it  mattered 
not.  There  lived  no  beast  nor  bird  so  stupid  or  so 
ill-conditioned  as  to  withhold  allegiance. 


1 50  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

The  delightful  thing  to  remember  is  that  Scott, 
who  was  not  by  nature  a  lover  of  cats,  granted  to 
Hinse  a  fair  share  of  friendship.  He  was  wont  to 
say  that  his  growing  esteem  for  cats  in  general, 
and  for  Hinse  in  particular,  was  a  sign  of  old  age, 
of  chimney-corner  life,  —  dogs  having  been  his 
boon  companions  in  the  vigorous  years  of  man 
hood.  Maida  is  a  name  to  conjure  by,  and  there 
is  nothing  in  the  wide  world  of  English  letters 
more  touching  than  that  first  lament  for  Abbots- 
ford,  when  the  clouds  were  gathering  fast,  and  the 
hopes  of  his  heart  were  broken.  "  I  feel  my  dogs' 
feet  on  my  knees.  I  hear  them  whining  and  seek 
ing  me  everywhere." 

Yet  Hinse  lorded  it  over  the  great  hound  with 
all  the  arrogance  of  his  race,  and  no  one  enjoyed 
more  than  Sir  Walter  such  superb  and  unwarranted 
effrontery.  Soon  after  the  coming  of  Maida,  he 
wrote  in  high  glee  to  Joanna  Baillie  :  — 

"  I  have  added  a  most  romantic  inmate  to  my 
family,  —  a  large  bloodhound,  allowed  to  be  the 
finest  dog  of  the  kind  in  Scotland ;  perfectly  gen 
tle,  affectionate  and  good-natured,  and  the  darling 
of  all  the  children.  I  had  him  a  present  from  Glen 
garry,  who  has  refused  the  breed  to  people  of  the 
very  first  rank.  He  is  between  the  deer-greyhound 
and  mastiff,  with  a  shaggy  mane  like  a  lion  ;  and 
always  sits  beside  me  at  dinner,  his  head  as  high 


as  the  back  of  my  chair.  Yet  it  will  gratify  you  to 
know  that  a  favourite  cat  keeps  him  in  the  greatest 
possible  order,  insists  upon  all  rights  of  precedence, 
and  scratches  with  impunity  the  nose  of  an  animal 
who  would  make  no  bones  of  a  wolf,  and  pulls  down 
a  red  deer  without  fear  or  difficulty.  I  heard  my 
friend  set  up  some  most  piteous  howls,  and  I  assure 
you  the  noise  was  no  joke,  all  occasioned  by  his 
fear  of  passing  Puss,  who  had  stationed  himself  on 
the  stairs." 

That  other  dogs  were  less  forbearing  than  Maida, 
Hinse  found  to  his  cost,  when  Nimrod  arrived  to 
share  the  wide  hospitality  of  Abbotsford.  Maida's 
tolerance  extended  to  all  creatures,  save  deer,  that 
he  had  been  trained  to  hunt,  and  artists,  whom  he 
hated  because  of  the  weary  hours  spent  in  sitting 
for  his  portraits.  The  mere  sight  of  a  palette  or  a 
box  of  colours  would  send  him  yawning  from  the 
room.  But  Hinse's  vanity  was  stimulated  by  hav 
ing  his  picture  hung  on  the  library  wall,  and  by  the 
ever  increasing  respect  and  affection  in  which  he 
was  held.  When  his  placid  career  came  to  its 
tragic  close,  Scott  wrote  to  Richardson  words  of 
genuine  regret.  —  "  Alack  -  a  -  day  !  my  poor  cat, 
Hinse,  my  acquaintance,  and,  in  some  sort,  my 
friend  of  fifteen  years,  was  snapped  at  even  by  that 
paynim  Nimrod.  What  could  I  say  to  him,  but 
what  Brantome  said  to  some  fcrraillcur  who  had 


152  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

been  too  successful  in  a  duel  ?  '  Ah  !  mon  grand 
ami,  vous  avez  tue  mon  autre  grand  ami.'  ' 

To  have  been,  even  "in  some  sort,"  Sir  Walter's 
friend  for  fifteen  happy  years  was  as  enviable  a  lot 
as  to  have  shared  Dr.  Johnson's  London  lodgings. 
"Canonized  pets  of  literature!"  Why,  here  are 
two  who  may  lord  it  in  Elysium  through  all  the 
centuries  to  come. 

When  Scott  was  absent  from  Abbotsford,  he 
was  not  insensible  to  the  charms  of  other  cats 
who  assiduously  sought  his  society.  "  There  are 
no  dogs  in  the  hotel  where  I  live,"  he  wrote  on  one 
occasion  from  London  ;  "  but  a  tolerably  conversa 
ble  cat,  who  eats  a  mess  of  cream  with  me  in  the 
morning."  While  at  Naples,  he  visited  the  Arch 
bishop  of  Taranto,  —  "a  most  interesting  old  man, 
whose  foible  is  a  passion  for  cats,"  • —  and  was  de 
lighted  with  the  ecclesiastical  pets.  "  One  of 
them,"  he  noted  in  his  journal,  "is  a  superb  brin 
dled  Persian,  a  great  beauty,  and  a  particular  fa 
vourite.  I  remember  seeing  at  Lord  Yarmouth's 
house  a  Persian  cat,  but  not  so  fine  as  the  Bish 
op's."  These  pussies  were  famous  in  their  day, 
and  Scott  was  not  the  only  traveller  to  sing  their 
praises.  Sir  Henry  Holland  scarcely  knew  which 
he  admired  the  more,  —  the  prelate  or  his  cat. 
Each  was  the  exact  picture  of  what  each  should 
be ;  and,  as  they  sat  side  by  side,  the  cat  seemed 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  153 

as  grand  a  dignitary,  if  not  as  austere  an  ecclesias 
tic,  as  his  master. 

It  was  perhaps  by  way  of  compensation  for 
their  evil  repute,  and  for  the  unholy  nature  of  their 
associations  throughout  the  Middle  Ages,  that  cats, 
when  struggling  back  to  respectability,  should  have 
been  so  widely  patronized  and  encouraged  by  the 
Church.  The  shadow  that  rested  on  their  fair 
fame  gave  them,  it  may  be,  an  added  interest  to 
the  clerical  mind,  which  has  ever  a  turn  for  exor 
cism.  Washington  Irving,  sitting  in  the  library  of 
Abbotsford,  observed  how  attentively  Hinse  lis 
tened  to  the  Arthurian  legends  which  Scott  was 
reading  aloud.  "Ah!"  said  the  wise  Sir  Walter, 
"  cats  are  a  mysterious  kind  of  folk.  There  is 
more  passing  in  their  minds  than  we  are  aware  of. 
It  comes  no  doubt  from  their  being  so  familiar  with 
warlocks  and  witches." 

By  this  time  they  were  equally  familiar  with  the 
Christian  hierarchy.  Gregory  the  Great  was  not 
the  only  Pope  who  delighted  to  honour  his  cat. 
Richelieu  and  Mazarin  were  not  the  only  Cardinals 
who  cultivated  the  companionship  of  kittens.  The 
Abbe  Galiani  was  not  the  only  ecclesiastic  who  had 
a  passion  for  the  race,  though  few  others  manifested 
it  in  so  strenuous  a  manner.  Losing  one  of  his  pets 
through  the  negligence  of  a  servant,  the  inconsol 
able  Abbe  marked  the  severity  of  his  displeasure 


i54  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

by  dismissing  his  entire  household.  The  Church 
of  Rome,  indeed,  was  not  long  permitted  the  exclu 
sive  privilege  of  sheltering  and  petting  the  cat. 
The  day  came  fast  when  her  Sister  of  England 
followed  pliantly  in  her  wake.  If  the  poet  Rogers 
felt  genuine  delight  at  being  allowed  to  dine  in  Italy 
with  a  Cardinal  and  his  cats,  the  guests  of  Bishop 
Thirl  wall  were  destined  to  enjoy  the  same  simple 
pleasure  at  Saint  David's.  His  pussies  sat  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair  at  table,  and  shared  —  or  dispensed 
—  the  hospitality  of  the  palace.  Of  other  luxuries 
they  appear  to  have  had  the  monopoly.  A  visitor 
who  observed  that  his  host  looked  wearied  and 
uncomfortable,  asked  him  why  he  did  not  take  an 
easy  chair.  "  Don't  you  see  who  is  in  it  already  ? " 
said  the  Bishop,  pointing  to  a  grey  cat  fast  asleep 
on  the  cushion. 

Canon  Liddon's  "  extravagant  partiality "  was 
equally  pronounced,  and,  let  us  hope,  equally  agree 
able  to  his  friends.  He  was  the  proud  possessor 
of  a  number  of  cats,  who  appear  to  have  all  had 
different  residences  assigned  them.  Two  hand 
some  brothers,  christened  stupidly  Tweedledum 
and  Tweedledee,  lived  at  Amen  Corner  ;  another 
shared  his  chambers;  a  fourth,  named  Campion, 
was  boarded  out,  and  only  visited  the  Canon  occa 
sionally  ;  and  a  fifth  preferred  the  Common  room  at 
Christ  Church  to  any  other  quarters.  This  cat  was 


THE    CAT   TRIUMPHANT  155 

of  a  reserved  nature,  presenting  invariably  the  same 
cold  insolence  of  demeanour,  the  same  "  heartless 
and  deliberate  rudeness  "  to  all  church  dignitaries 
save  Liddon,  whom  he  loved  to  distraction,  and 
whom  it  was  his  delight  to  entertain  with  acrobatic 
feats.  He  would  jump  upon  a  bust  of  Dr.  Busby 
which  stood  on  a  bracket  near  the  door,  balance 
himself  for  one  instant  upon  that  severe  and  rever 
ent  brow,  take  a  flying  leap  to  the  mantelpiece,  and 
returning,  land  with  exquisite  and  unvarying  accu 
racy  on  the  bust,  repeating  this  performance  as 
often  as  his  master  desired.  Liddon's  great  amuse 
ment  was  to  stand  with  his  back  to  the  bracket,  and 
fling  a  biscuit  at  Dr.  Busby's  head,  the  cat  catching 
it  dexterously,  and  without  losing  his  precarious 
foothold. 

One  shivers  even  now  at  the  thought  of  any  man 
who  had  once  been  a  little  boy,  or  of  any  cat  who 
had  once  been  a  little  kitten,  taking  such  unpardon 
able  liberties  with  Dr.  Busby.  His  awful  shadow 
looms  dark  and  terrible  in  the  history  of  childhood. 
The  brilliant  scholars,  the  successful  statesmen,  the 
pious  and  learned  divines  whom  his  rod  had  assisted 
to  eminence,  trembled  secretly  when  they  heard  his 
name  ;  yet  here  were  a  canon  and  his  cat  encour 
aging  each  other  in  ribald  acts  of  desecration.  Was 
there  no  lesser  light  whose  "animated  bust"  could 
have  served  as  a  pedestal  for  athletic  sports  ? 


156  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

That  sound  scholar  and  true  lover  of  animals, 
Archbishop  Whately,  he  who  "  ignored  metaphysics 
and  minimized  theology,"  was  wont  to  say  that  only 
one  English  noun  had  a  true  vocative  case.  "  Nomi 
native,  cat.  Vocative,  Puss."  And  it  is  a  happy  cir 
cumstance  which  gives  us  this  soft  and  pretty  appel 
lation,  this  endearing  diminutive,  so  well  suited  to 
the  little  animal  it  summons.  The  French  are  less 
fortunate,  and  all  their  loving  efforts  to  provide  the 
cat  with  a  permanent  vocative  serve  only  to  show 
the  greater  fitness  and  sweetness  of  the  English 
word ;  in  frank  recognition  of  which  superiority, 
M.  Taine  drops  Moumoutte  and  Mimi,  and  fits 
"  Puss  "  prettily  into  his  loving  tribute  of  verse. 

"  Le  plaisir,  comme  il  vient ;  la  douleur,  s'il  le  faut, 
fuss,  vous  acceptez  tout,  et  le  soleil  la-haut, 
Quand  il  finit  son  tour  dans  1'immensite  bleue, 
Vous  voit,  couchee  en  circle,  au  soir  comme  au  matin, 
Heureuse  sans  effort,  resignee  au  destin, 
Lisser  nonchalamment  les  poils  de  votre  queue." 

We  could  ill  spare  this  ancient  patronymic,  since 
a  somewhat  ponderous  Saxon  humour  is  wont  to 
wax  sportive  over  the  naming  of  cats.  Instead 
of  studying  simplicity,  as  in  Hodge  and  Hinse,  or 
grace,  as  in  Selima  and  Fatima,  —  on  such  points 
Walpole  could  not  go  astray, — we  find  too  often 
either  sheer  stupidity,  like  Canon  Liddon's  Tweedle 
dum  and  Tweedledee,  or  the  fantastic  foolishness 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  157 

which  made  possible  this  often  quoted  passage  in 
a  letter  of  Southey's  to  Bedford. ' 

"  Alas,  Grosvenor,  to-day  poor  Rumpel  was  found 
dead,  after  as  long  and  happy  a  life  as  cat  could  wish 
for,  if  cats  form  wishes  on  that  subject.  His  full 
titles  were :  The  Most  Noble,  the  Archduke  Rum- 
pelstiltzchen,  Marcus  Macbum,  Earl  Tomlefnagne, 
Baron  Raticide,  Waowhler  and  Scratch.  There 
should  be  a  court-mourning  in  Catland,  and  if  the 
Dragon "  (Bedford's  cat)  "  wear  a  black  ribbon 
round  his  neck,  or  a  band  of  crape  a  la  militaire 
round  one  of  his  forepaws,  it  will  be  but  a  becom 
ing  mark  of  respect." 

People  who  admired  "  The  Cataract  of  Lodore," 
or  "The  March  to  Moscow,"  may  possibly  have 
thought  this  letter  amusing.  We,  if  less  easily 
entertained,  should  at  least  forgive  it,  remembering 
that  Southey  loved  his  cats,  though  he  could  joke 
clumsily  over  their  graves.  He  was  sincerely  at 
tached,  not  only  to  Rumpel,  but  to  Othello,  and 
"  the  Zombi,"  -  —  which  sounds  like  a  litter,  but  was 
in  reality  a  single  puss,  named  after  the  chief  of  the 
Palmares  negroes.  All  these  animals  enjoyed  as 
much  consideration  and  respect  as  Bentham's  fa 
mous  cat,  who  began  life  as  simple  Langbourne, 
was  subsequently  knighted,  and  known  as  Sir  John 
Langbourne,  and  ended  his  dignified  days  as  Rev. 
Sir  John  Langbourne,  D.  D. 


158  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Turn  where  we  may  in  this  Augustan  age,  we 
see  the  same  consoling  picture,  —  from  Sterne's 
cat  purring  by  the  fire,  to  Charles  Lamb's  faithful 
old  Pussy  decorated  with  green  ribbons  to  fit  her 
for  her  pastoral  part  in  Edmonton.  Lamb,  as  we 
know,  admired  Miss  Grey's  "  kitten  eyes,"  with 
their  sweet  pretence  of  innocence  ;  and  offered  his 
own  solution  of  a  hitherto  unanswered  problem. 
"  I  made  a  pun  the  other  day,"  he  writes  to  Man 
ning,  "  and  palmed  it  upon  Holcroft,  who  grinned 
like  a  Cheshire  cat.  (Why  do  cats  grin  in  Cheshire  ? 
—  Because  it  was  once  a  county  palatine,  and  the 
cats  cannot  help  laughing  whenever  they  think  of 
it,  though  /see  no  great  joke  in  it.)  " 

Even  Christopher  North,  guilty  as  he  appears 
in  the  matter  of  that  brutal  sport,  cat-worrying,  had 
a  sincere  and  well-founded  admiration  for  his  own 
puss,  who  was  a  Nimrod  among  hunters,  a  Cceur 
de  Lion  among  fighters,  and  an  Autolycus  among 
thieves.  The  genial  depravity  of  this  gifted  cat, 
and  his  wonderful  readiness  of  resource,  delighted 
Wilson's  soul.  He  it  was  who,  having  adroitly  re 
moved  the  pigeon  from  a  well-built  pie,  stuffed  up 
the  hole  with  his  master's  ink-sponge,  as  matter 
better  suited  to  the  literary  appetite.  He  it  was 
whose  clamorous  battle-cry,  ringing  through  the 
frosty  night,  summoned  all  the  warriors  of  the 
wall  to  mortal  combat,  until  Wilson's  back  green 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  159 

was  "absolutely  composed  of  cats."  And  he  it 
was  whose  passionate  love-songs  banished  slumber 
from  the  eyes  of  men,  and  stirred  the  gentle  Ettrick 
Shepherd  into  an  unwonted  fury  of  denunciation. 
"  I  've  often  thocht  it  aneuch  to  sicken  ane  o'  love 
a'  their  days,"  he  observes  indignantly  in  the 
"  Noctes,"  "just  to  reflect  that  a'  that  hissin',  and 
spitting,  and  snuffing,  and  squeaking,  and  squeal 
ing,  and  howling,  and  growling,  and  groaning,  a' 
mixed  up  into  ae  infernal  gallemaufry  o'  din,  onlike 
onything  else  even  in  this  noisy  world,  was  wi'  these 
creatures  the  saftest,  sweetest  expression  o'  the  same 
tender  passion  that  from  Adam's  lips  whispered  per 
suasion  into  Eve's  ear,  in  the  bowers  o'  Paradise." 

Perhaps,  indeed,  much  of  the  unreasonable  fear 
and  hatred  with  which  the  mediaeval  peasant  re 
garded  his  cat  may  be  traceable  to  its  extraordinary 
vocal  powers.  Those  long-drawn  notes  which  sud 
denly  pierce  the  silence  of  the  night,  so  inhumanly 
human  in  their  swelling  cadences  ;  those  rising 
tides  of  passion,  those  sudden  plunges  into  unveiled 
horror, — what  wonder  that  they  carried  consterna 
tion  to  minds  always  attuned  to  the  supernatural ! 
One  remembers  how  Coleridge  wrote  of  the  cats 
of  Malta,  who  were  in  the  habit  of  meeting  under 
his  bedroom  window,  and  to  whose  nocturnal  sym 
phonies  he  listened  with  quaking  heart.  "  It  is  the 
discord  of  Torment,  and  of  Rage,  and  of  Hate,  of 


160  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

paroxysms   of  Revenge,  and   every  note  grumbles 
away  into  Despair." 

More  sympathetic  and  less  nervous  hearers  have 
found  much  to  interest  them  in  the  cat's  vocalism, 
with  its  flexibility  and  astonishing  variations.  "  Le 
chat  mise  en  possession  d'une  belle  et  grande  voix," 
wrote  Moncrif  appreciatively.  M.  Dupont  de  Ne 
mours,  a  close  and  loving  student  of  animals,  main 
tained  that,  whereas  the  dog  possesses  only  vowel 
sounds,  the  cat  uses  in  her  language  no  less  than 
six  consonants,  —  m,  n,  g,  h,  v,  and  f.  M.  Champ- 
fleury  professed  to  have  counted  sixty-three  notes 
in  the  mewing  of  cats,  though  he  acknowledged 
that  it  took  an  accurate  ear  and  much  practice  to 
distinguish  them.  He  also  considered  the  sign  or 
gesture  language  used  by  cats  to  be  even  more 
copious  and  expressive  than  their  audible  tongue. 
The  Abbe  Galiani  could  discern  only  twenty  notes 
in  the  most  elaborate  mewing ;  but  insisted  that 
these  sounds  represent  a  complete  vocabulary,  inas 
much  as  a  cat  always  makes  use  of  the  same  note 
to  express  the  same  sentiment.  He  was  able  to 
distinguish  clearly  between  the  male  and  female 
tones,  which  he  held  to  be  as  different  in  the  cry 
of  animals  as  in  the  singing  of  birds.  It  was  his 
opinion,  moreover,  that  not  a  single  quaver  in  all 
the  "infernal  gallemaufry  o'  din,"  which  we  hear 
from  the  moon-lit  wall,  voices  that  tender  passion 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  161 

which  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  fancied  to  vibrate  in 
every  scale.  Two  cats,  systematically  separated 
by  him  from  all  other  companionship,  did  their 
love-making  silently,  only  a  faint  amorous  purr  or 
sigh  betraying  the  nature  of  their  emotions.  Those 
clarion  notes,  those  long  wailing  sobs,  associated 
with  feline  dalliance,  are  rather  calls  to  the  absent, 
vituperations  of  rival  suitors,  jealous  upbraidings, 
protestations  of  innocence,  clangorous  summons 
to  battle,  and  paeans  of  victory  over  a  routed  foe. 
Courtship,  without  these  attendant  agitations,  must 
be  rather  a  colourless  affair.  To  woo  in  a  corner, 
instead  of  in  a  tournament,  is  dull  work  for  a  spirited 
cat. 

For  that  Puss  is,  above  all  things,  a  hunter  and 
a  fighter  must  never  be  forgotten  nor  ignored. 
Little  beast  of  prey  unwearyingly  pursuing  her 
quarry,  little  denizen  of  woods  and  caves  installed 
under  our  roofs,  and  softened  into  domesticity,  — 
the  cat  has  retained  her  wild  instincts  through 
centuries  of  repression.  Chosen  companion  of  stu 
dents,  valued  friend  of  careful  housewives,  and 
genius  of  the  quiet  fireside,  she  gives  to  man,  in 
return  for  his  protection,  nothing  but  her  gracious 
presence  by  his  hearth.  The  serenity  of  her  habit 
ual  attitude,  which  veils  a  stubborn  fierceness  of 
soul,  her  indolent  enjoyment  of  cushioned  ease  and 
warmth,  have  endeared  her  naturally  to  men  of 


i62  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

thought  rather  than  to  men  of  action.  Shelley 
basking  by  the  fire,  Johnson  immured  in  shabby 
London  lodgings,  Scott,  when  his  increasing  lame 
ness  deprived  him  of  the  outdoor  pleasures  that  he 
loved,  Matthew  Arnold  in  the  simple  country  life 
that  pleased  him  best,  —  all  learned  to  appreciate 
the  gentleness,  the  composure,  the  exquisite  urban 
ity  of  the  cat.  Statesmen  have  ever  been  partial 
to  an  animal  whose  subtlety  of  spirit  far  exceeds 
their  own.  Colbert,  following  the  example  of  Riche 
lieu,  was  wont  to  play  for  hours  with  his  kittens, 
and  Canning  wrote  verses  in  praise  of  his  cat.  It 
has  even  happened  that  sailors  and  soldiers,  like 
Admiral  Doria  and  Marshal  Turenne,  have  frankly 
avowed  the  engrossing  nature  of  their  preference. 
Doria  was  painted  with  his  cat  by  his  side  ;  Turenne 
had  whole  families  of  pussies  whom  he  loved  and 
cared  for.  Lord  Heathfield,  when  Gibraltar  was 
besieged  by  the  Spaniards,  used  to  appear  every 
day  on  the  walls,  attended  by  his  cats,  —  quiet, 
composed  beasts,  who  kept  close  to  their  master, 
and  seemed  in  no  wise  disturbed  by  the  roar  and 
rattle  of  artillery.  More  strange  and  more  pitiful 
to  relate,  there  were  found,  after  the  battle  of  Sebas- 
topol,  a  number  of  cats  clinging,  frightened  and  for 
lorn,  to  the  knapsacks  of  the  dead  Russian  soldiers. 
They  had  followed  their  only  friends  into  the  midst 
of  that  terrible  carnage,  and,  desperate  with  terror, 
refused  to  be  driven  from  the  field. 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  163 

Nevertheless,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the 
feline  war  record,  so  far  as  it  is  known  in  history, 
is  not  a  brilliant  one.  The  unwritten  annals  of  the 
race  are  dark,  indeed,  with  strife.  For  matchless 
courage,  and  for  an  animated  joy  in  battle,  the  cat 
can  hardly  be  surpassed.  But  the  combat  must 
be  of  his  own  choosing,  and  with  his  own  kindred. 
To  the  perpetual  wrangling  of  humanity  he  offers 
a  mortifying  indifference.  That  splendid  spirit  of 
partisanship  which  made  Prince  Rupert's  dog  fly 
at  a  Roundhead's  throat  is  all  unknown  to  the  cat. 
That  intelligent  understanding  of  a  political  situa 
tion  which  induced  the  wise  and  wary  greyhound, 
Math,  to  desert  King  Richard  the  Second,  who 
had  reared  him  from  puppyhood,  and  fawn  upon 
the  victorious  Bolingbroke ;  or  which  inspired  the 
favourite  spaniel  of  Charles  of  Blois  to  quit  his 
master's  side  before  the  battle  of  Auray,  and  seek 
the  safer  shelter  of  John  de  Montfort's  tent,  would 
be  impossible  —  let  us  hope  —  for  the  cat.  When 
Puss  has  taken  an  active  part  in  any  warfare,  —  as 
in  the  dastardly  attack  of  Cambyses  upon  the  pious 
Egyptians,  —  he  was  but  an  irresponsible  and  unwill 
ing  agent.  Therefore  he  has  seldom  been  the  ad 
mitted  friend  of  fighting  men.  Be  it  remembered 
with  regret  that  Napoleon  detested  cats  as  cordially 
all  his  life  as  Lord  Roberts  detests  them  now. 

The  irritable  race  of  authors  have,  on  the  other 


1 64  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

hand,  found  in  Pussy's  gentle  presence  a  balm  for 
their  sensitive  souls.  Lord  Byron  stands  forth, 
a  striking  exception  to  this  rule.  He  was  sensitive 
enough,  and  irritable  enough,  Heaven  knows,  and 
he  had  plenty  of  cats  —  five  at  one  time  in  Ravenna 
—  to  have  afforded  him  all  the  consolation  of  which 
he  stood  in  need  ;  but  he  harboured  them  rather 
from  a  passionate  fancy  for  every  kind  of  animal 
than  from  a  particular  grace  in  selection.  They 
shared  his  indiscriminate  hospitality  with  eight 
dogs,  ten  horses,  three  monkeys,  an  eagle,  a  crow, 
a  falcon,  five  peacocks,  two  guinea-hens  and  an 
Egyptian  crane  ;  and  must  have  had  scant  pleasure 
in  such  varied  and  over-animated  society.  There 
was  even  at  one  time  a  civet-cat  added  to  this 
menagerie  intimc ;  but  it  wisely  ran  away,  after 
scratching  one  of  the  monkeys,  and  was  never  heard 
of  again.  Shelley,  being  of  a  nervous  temperament, 
was  made  unspeakably  wretched  by  the  superabun 
dance  of  birds  and  beasts  in  the  Ravenna  palace, 
and  expressed  his  views  forcibly  to  Byron,  who 
could  not  be  made  to  understand  such  discomfort. 
He  himself  found  them  all  delightful,  and  noted 
down  with  deep  concern  in  his  journal  the  tempo 
rary  lameness  of  the  crow,  and  his  apprehension 
lest  "  some  fool  "  had  trodden  on  its  foot. 

In  more  homely  households,  Pussy's  recognized 
corner  was  the  kitchen  hearth.     There  dwelt  the 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  165 

grey  cat  of  the  Brontes,  watching  Emily's  bread- 
making  with  wise,  attentive  eyes.  She  was  the 
silent  sister's  favourite,  and  Charlotte  has  recorded 
the  grief  at  Haworth  when  the  poor  little  creature 
died.  There  dwelt  the  cheerful  colony  of  Edge- 
worth  stown  cats,  or  such  of  them,  at  least,  as  were 
not  on  police  duty  in  the  stables.  Miss  Edgeworth, 
though  no  enthusiast,  has  left  us  a  pleasant  descrip 
tion  of  these  pussies,  and  of  their  delight  at  the 
reappearance  of  a  maid  who  had  been  absent  with 
the  family  at  Longford.  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you  a 
remarkable  feature  of  our  return,"  she  writes  to  her 
cousin,  Sophy  Ruxton.  "  All  the  cats,  even  those 
who  properly  belong  to  the  stable,  and  who  had 
never  been  admitted  to  the  honours  of  a  sitting  in 
the  kitchen,  crowded  around  Kitty  with  congratu 
latory  faces,  crawling  up  her  gown,  insisting  upon 
caressing  and  being  caressed,  when  she  reappeared 
in  the  lower  regions.  Mr.  Gilpin's  slander  against 
cats,  as  selfish,  unfeeling  creatures,  is  refuted  by 
stubborn  facts." 

That  is  a  pretty  touch  of  "  congratulatory  faces," 
and  worthy  of  the  writer's  pen.  We  can  see  the 
topaz  eyes  gleaming  softly  in  the  firelight ;  we  can 
hear  the  welcoming  purr,  and  feel  the  gentle  rub 
bing  of  the  furry  sides.  It  is  from  Miss  Edgeworth, 
too,  that  we  learn  of  Joanna  Baillie's  cat,  a  splendid 
Amazon,  who  once  avenged  the  wrongs  of  her  race 


166  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

by  worrying  a  dog,  to  the  huge  delight  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott ;  yet  who,  combining  courtesy  with  valour, 
was  wont  to  awaken  her  mistress  when  she  lay  late 
abed,  by  very  gently  placing  one  paw  "  with  its 
glove  on  "  upon  the  closed  lids.  Perhaps  this  peer 
less  creature  was  also,  in  the  main,  a  kitchen  cat, 
Miss  Baillie  having  strict  views  of  her  own  as  to 
the  nature  of  feline  duties. 

"  Still  be  thou  deemed  by  housewife  fat, 
A  comely,  careful,  mousing  cat, 
Whose  dish  is,  for  the  public  good, 
Replenished  oft  with  savoury  food  ;  " 

is  the  sober  future  she  holds  out  to  the  kitten  sport 
ing  by  the  fire,  —  the  tiny  comedian  whose  irrespon 
sible  gayety  beguiled  her  heart,  and  prompted  some 
of  her  prettiest  lines. 

"  Backwards  coiled,  and  crouching  low, 
With  glaring  eye-balls  watch  thy  foe, 
The  housewife's  spindle  whirling  round, 
Or  thread  or  straw,  that  on  the  ground 
Its  shadow  throws,  by  urchin  sly 
Held  out  to  lure  thy  roving  eye  ; 
Then,  onward  stealing,  fiercely  spring 
Upon  the  futile,  faithless  thing. 
Now,  wheeling  round  with  bootless  skill, 
Thy  bo-peep  tail  provokes  thee  still, 
And  oft,  beyond  thy  curving  side, 
Its  jetty  tip  is  seen  to  glide. 

The  nimblest  tumbler,  stage-bedight, 
To  thee  is  but  a  clumsy  wight, 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  167 

Who  every  limb  and  sinew  strains 

To  do  what  costs  thee  little  pains. 

But,  stopped  the  while  thy  wanton  play, 

Applauses  too  thy  feats  repay  : 

For  then,  beneath  some  childish  hand, 

With  modest  pride  thou  takest  thy  stand  ; 

Dilated  then  thy  glossy  fur, 

And  loudly  swells  thy  busy  purr ; 

As,  timing  well  the  equal  sound, 

Thy  clutching  feet  bepat  the  ground, 

And  all  their  harmless  claws  disclose, 

Like  prickles  of  an  early  rose." 

If  this  verse  be  far  less  graceful  and  poetic  than 
that  in  which  Wordsworth  has  described  for  us  the 
kitten  playing  with  the  fallen  leaves,  it  has  the  merit 
of  plain  fidelity  to  facts.  Joanna  Baillie  understood 
how  dear  to  kittenhood  are  attention  and  applause, 
how  much  of  the  irresistible  prancing  and  paddling 
is  pure  comedy,  designed  to  dazzle  an  audience. 
Wordsworth,  gazing  serenely  at  the  small  impostor 
on  the  wall,  was  deceived  by  a  specious  show  of 
innocence.  With  touching  simplicity,  he  fancied 
her  unconscious  of  the  admiration  she  was  exciting, 
and  philosophized  over  the  absence  of  that  coquetry 
which  was  rampant  in  her  little  bosom. 

"  But  the  kitten,  how  she  starts, 
Crouches,  stretches,  paws  and  darts  ! 
First  at  one,  and  then  its  fellow, 
Just  as  light  and  just  as  yellow  ; 
There  are  many  now,  —  now  one,  — 
Now  they  stop,  and  there  are  none. 


168  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

What  intenseness  of  desire 

In  her  upward  eye  of  fire  ! 

With  a  tiger  leap  half  way, 

Now  she  meets  the  coming  prey, 

Lets  it  go  as  fast,  and  then 

Has  it  in  her  power  again. 

Now  she  works  with  three  or  four, 

Like  an  Indian  conjurer  ; 

Quick  as  he  in  feats  of  art, 

Far  beyond  in  joy  of  heart. 

Were  her  antics  played  in  the  eye 

Of  a  thousand  standers-by, 

Clapping  hands  with  shout  and  stare, 

What  would  little  Tabby  care 

For  the  plaudits  of  the  crowd  ? 

Over  happy  to  be  proud  ; 

Over  wealthy  in  the  treasure 

Of  her  own  exceeding  pleasure." 

Little  Tabby  was  an  arrant  hussy  to  so  shame 
lessly  deceive  a  great  poet ;  but  when  any  living 
creature  contrives  to  look  as  supernaturally  inno 
cent  as  a  kitten,  we  had  best  remember  "  L'Ecole 
des  Femmes,"  and  be  sure  qu 'die  fait  I' Agues. 

For  Pussy  at  her  very  best,  we  must  still  turn 
to  homely  hearths  where  her  place  is  held  sacred, 
where  her  labours  warrant  her  welcome,  where  her 
sleepy  ease  suggests  comfort,  and  her  beauty  gives 
an  indescribable  touch  of  distinction  to  all  her  plain 
surroundings.  It  is  in  such  a  humdrum  song  as 
that  of  Auld  Bawthren  in  the  chimney-corner  that 
we  see  the  domestic  sweetness  of  the  cat. 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  169 

"  The  gudewife  birrs  wi'  the  wheel  a'  day, 

Three  threeds  an'  a  thrum  ; 

A  walth  o'  wark,  an'  sma'  time  for  play, 

Wi'  the  lint  sae  white  and  worset  grey 

Work  hard  she  maun,  while  sing  I  may, 

Three  threeds  an'  a  thrum. 

"  The  gudewife  rises  frae  out  her  bed, 
Wi'  her  cozey  nicht-mutch  round  her  head, 
To  steer  the  fire  to  a  blaze  sae  red, 
An'  her  feet  I  rub  wi'  welcome  glad. 

"  I  daunder  round  her  wi'  blythesome  birr, 
An'  rub  on  her  legs  my  sleek  warm  fur ; 
Wi'  sweeps  o'  my  tail  I  welcome  her, 
An'  round  her  rin,  wherever  she  stir. 

"  The  men-folk's  time  for  rest  is  sma', 
They  're  out  in  the  sunshine,  an'  out  in  the  snaw, 
Tho'  cauld  winds  whistle,  or  rain  should  fa', 
I,  in  the  ingle,  dae  nought  ava'. 

"  I  like  the  gudeman,  but  loe  the  wife, 
Days  mony  they  've  seen  o'  leil  and  strife  ; 
O'  sorrow  human  hours  are  rife  ; 
Their  haud  's  been  mine  a'  the  days  o'  my  life. 

"  Auld  Bawthren  grey,  she  kitten'd  me  here, 
An'  wha  was  my  sire  I  didna  spier; 
Brithers  an'  sisters  smoor'd  i'  the  weir, 
Left  me  alane  to  my  mither  dear. 

"  As  I  grew  a  cat  wi'  look  sae  douse, 
She  taught  me  to  catch  the  pilf'rin  mouse ; 
Wi'  the  thievish  rottons  I  had  nae  truce, 
But  banished  them  a'  frae  the  maister's  house 


i;o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

"  Mither  got  fushionless,  auld,  an'  blin, 
The  bluid  in  Her  veins  was  cauld  an'  thin, 
Her  claws  were  blunt,  an'  she  couldna  rin, 
An'  t'  her  forbears  was  sune  gathered  in. 

"  Now  I  sit  hurklin'  aye  in  the  ase, 

The  queen  I  am  o'  that  cozey  place  ; 

As  wi'  ilka  paw  I  dicht  my  face, 

I  sing  an'  purr  wi'  mickle  grace, 

Three  threeds  an'  a  thrum, 
Three  threeds  an'  a  thrum." 

There  was  'one  hearth,  humble  enough  for  the 
most  part,  where  the  cat  led  but  a  chequered  and 
comfortless  career ;  there  was  one  great  writer 
whose  supremely  irritable  soul  she  might  have 
soothed  into  serenity,  had  she  been  granted  fuller 
and  sweeter  sway.  Carlyle  should  always  have  had 
a  cat  at  his  elbow.  It  was  the  influence  he  needed 
most,  and  which  he  vaguely  welcomed,  without 
understanding  its  tranquillizing  power.  The  wis 
dom  of  the  centuries  is  embodied  in  the  contempla 
tive  self-sufficiency  of  the  cat.  Her  superb  repose 
modifies  the  restless  fidgeting  of  men,  and  Carlyle 
fidgeted  more  than  is  permissible,  even  for  a  man. 
Unhappily,  his  incomparable  wife  surpassed  him  on 
this  score,  and  it  was  she,  alas  !  who  made  Pussy's 
post  untenable.  Her  letters  show  as  constant  a 
succession  of  cats  as  of  servants.  Each  new  ani 
mal,  like  each  new  domestic,  was  received  with 
enthusiasm  ;  and  each  was  found,  after  a  trial,  to 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  171 

be  as  far  removed  from  an  impossible  standard 
of  perfection. 

One  feline  Sybarite  took  an  unworthy  advantage 
of  Mr.  Carlyle's  absence  to  kitten  on  his  bed  ;  and 
another  stole  the  red  herring  which  the  maid-of-all- 
work  had  cooked  for  her  own  dinner.  There  was 
at  no  time  a  superfluity  of  good  cheer  beneath  that 
meagre  roof,  and  who,  save  the  aggrieved  maid, 
could  have  censured  so  natural  and  necessary  a 
theft  ?  This  hapless  cat  was  afterwards  —  while 
its  mistress  was  away  —  ruthlessly  drowned,  "  for 
unexampled  dishonesty,"  being  expected,  appar 
ently,  to  live  upon  nothing  but  mice. 

The  next  incumbent  was  a  vivacious  black  pussy, 
known  by  the  pretty  name  of  Columbine.  There 
is  an  amusing  letter  from  Mrs.  Carlyle,  —  when  is 
she  not  amusing  !  —  in  which  Nero,  the  little  dog, 
gives  his  absent  master  a  graphic  picture  of  the 
unhomelike  home,  with  its  Spartan  rigours,  and 
bleak,  clean,  fussy  discomfort.  He  winds  up  rue 
fully  :  "  There  was  no  dinner  yesterday,  to  speak 
of.  I  had,  for  my  share,  only  a  piece  of  biscuit 
that  might  have  been  round  the  world  ;  and  if  Col 
umbine  got  anything  at  all,  I  did  n't  see  it." 

Possibly  Columbine  foraged  for  herself,  after  the 
free-booting  fashion  of  her  race  ;  but  the  white  cat 
that  succeeded  her  departed  immediately  from  such 
dinnerless  quarters.  Then  Mr.  Darwin  offered 


i72  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Mrs.  Carlyle  his  own  excellent  mouser,  if  she  could 
tolerate  "a  cat  with  a  bad  heart."  Apparently  she 
could  n't  ;  but  preferred  one  that  was  admittedly 
clever,  though  "of  an  unsettled  turn  of  mind." 
This  beast,  wise  in  its  restlessness,  withdrew  after 
a  brief  experience  ;  and  was  followed  by  "  a  kitten, 
black  as  soot,  —  a  most  agile  kitten,  and  wonder 
fully  confiding." 

Dear  little  kit !  How  long  she  stayed,  or  was  per 
mitted  to  stay,  we  do  not  know.  There  is  but  one 
more  letter  on  the  subject,  and  that  one  is  not  in 
cluded  in  the  published  volumes.  It  was  unearthed 
recently,  and  printed  in  the  "Glasgow  News."  Its 
recipient  was  Mrs.  Carlyle's  maid,  Jessie,  of  whom, 
in  other  epistles,  she  makes  bitter  complaint  ;  but 
with  whom  she  appears  to  have  corresponded  on 
the  most  intimate  and  animated  terms.  Writing 
from  Folkestone,  whither  she  has  gone  for  sea  air, 
she  implores  Jessie  to  have  everything  in  readiness 
for  Mr.  Carlyle's  return.  He  is  visiting  his  brother 
in  Annandale,  and  she  has  been  trying  hard  to  per 
suade  him  to  remain  there,  or  at  Aldersley  Park, 
for  another  week. 

"  I  hold  out  the  inducement  that  I  should  be  in 
London,  after  Monday  the  twenty-eighth,  to  welcome 
him.  But  I  don't  know.  Man  is  born  to  contra 
diction,  as  the  sparks  fly  upward.  The  very  per 
suasion  that  he  should  absent  himself  a  few  days 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  173 

more  may  give  him  an  unconscious  but  irresistible 
impulse  towards  home. 

"Anyhow,  you  and  Mrs.  Warren  will  not  be  found, 
like  the  foolish  virgins,  with  lamps  without  oil ;  and, 
besides,  you  may  be  sure  of  his  giving  you  due  warn 
ing.  Having  his  bedroom  all  right,  and  the  upstairs 
room  fit  to  be  seen,  no  other  preparation  need  be 
made  'till  the  day  and  hour  of  his  coming  have  been 
announced  to  you  by  himself.  I  still  hope  that  he 
may  not  come  'till  I  myself  am  home  first ;  but,  if 
he  should,  there  is  one  thing  which  you  must  attend 
to,  and  which  you  would  not  think  of  without  being 
told.  That  cat  !  I  wish  she  were  dead!  But  I  can't 
shorten  her  days,  because,  you  see,  my  poor,  dear, 
wee  dog  liked  her.  Well,  there  she  is  !  And  as  long 
as  she  attends  Mr.  C.  at  his  meals  (and  she  does  n't 
care  a  sheaf  of  tobacco  for  him  at  any  other  time), 
so  long  will  Mr.  C.  continue  to  give  her  bits  of  meat 
and  driblets  of  milk,  to  the  ruination  of  carpets  and 
hearthrugs  !  I  have  over  and  over  again  pointed 
out  to  him  the  stains  she  has  made,  but  he  won't 
believe  them  her  doings.  And  the  dining-room 
carpet  was  so  old  and  ugly  that  it  was  n't  worth 
rows  with  one's  husband  about.  Now,  however, 
that  nice  new  cloth  must  be  protected  against  the 
cat  abuse.  So  what  I  wish  is  that  you  would  shut 
up  the  creature  when  Mr.  C.  has  breakfast,  dinner, 
or  tea  ;  and,  if  he  remarks  on  her  absence,  say  it 


174  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

was  my  express  wish.  He  has  no  idea  what  a 
selfish,  immoral,  improper  beast  she  is,  nor  what 
mischief  she  does  to  the  carpets.  Kind  regards  to 
Mrs.  Warren.  Yours  sincerely, 

JANE  CARLYLE." 

Poor  Pussy  !  Poor  clean,  sad,  catless  dining-room  ! 
Poor  Mrs.  Carlyle !  In  another  year  she  was  dead, 
and  we  can  hardly  fancy  her  resting  unfretted  in 
her  grave.  But  it  is  pleasant  to  picture  the  great 
historian,  whose  disagreeable  aspects  have  been  put 
forward  so  relentlessly  for  the  consideration  of  the 
world,  feeding  his  cat  with  "  driblets  of  milk," 
and  excusing  —  or  denying — the  mess  she  made. 
There  is  a  touch  of  Dr.  Johnson's  human  kindness 
about  the  simple  deed.  Had  Carlyle  been  permitted 
to  live  on  terms  of  easy  intimacy  with  Columbine 
or  the  soot-black  kitten,  he  might  have  learned  from 

"  The  perfect  balance  of  their  ways  " 

some  useful  lessons  in  philosophy. 

Happily  there  are  other  and  brighter  prospects 
to  consider,  even  on  England's  uncongenial  soil ; 
there  are  other  and  brighter  glimpses  into  homes 
which  seem  to  have  been  made — like  Herrick's 
vicarage — for  Pussy's  tranquil  sway.  To  under 
stand  the  character  of  a  cat,  to  respect  her  independ 
ence,  to  recognize  and  deplore  her  pitiless  instincts, 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  175 

to  be  charmed  by  her  gentler  moods,  to  admire  her 
beauty,  to  appreciate  her  intelligence,  and  to  love 
her  steadfastly  without  being  loved  in  return,  — 
these  things  are  not  often  possible  to  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  nature.  It  is  an  upright  nature,  but  iron- 
bound  and  exacting.  It  is  wont  to  overrate  the 
virtues  it  possesses,  and  to  underrate  those  to  which 
it  lays  no  claim.  It  prizes  the  frank  fidelity  of  the 
dog,  it  mistrusts  the  suavity  and  subtlety  of  the 
cat ;  but  then,  as  the  cat  remarks  to  the  dog  in 
Mr.  Fronde's  "Pilgrimage,"  "There  may  be  truth 
in  what  you  say,  but  I  think  your  view  is  limited." 
It  is  at  least  worthy  of  note  that  the  Englishman 
who  so  deeply  offended  his  country-people  by  his 
admiration  for  French  traits  and  French  literature, 
embodied  the  one,  and  rivalled  the  other,  in  the 
few  admirable  lines  that  immortalize  his  cat.  Mr. 
Arnold's  Atossa  is  no  "comely,  careful"  mouser, 
no  guileless  kitling,  innocent  of  sin.  She  is  a  red- 
handed  murderess,  whose  blandishments  win  easy 
pardon  for  her  crimes.  His  letters  prove  the  affec 
tion  he  felt  for  her ;  his  poetry  proves  the  clearness 
with  which  he  saw  the  depths  of  her  misdoing. 
He  cheerfully  fills  page  after  page  of  his  corre 
spondence  with  minute  descriptions  of  her  behaviour 
by  night  and  day,  winding  up  with  the  heartfelt 
assurance  ;  "  She  is  a  most  interesting  cat,  and  we 
get  fonder  and  fonder  of  her  all  the  time." 


i;6  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

"  I  have  just  been  called  to  the  door,"  he  writes 
from  Cobham  to  his  mother,  "  by  the  sweet  voice 
of  Toss,  whose  morning  proceedings  are  wonderful. 
She  sleeps  —  She  has  just  jumped  on  my  lap,  and 
her  beautiful  tail  has  made  this  smudge,  but  I  have 
put  her  down  again.  I  was  going  to  say  that  she 
sleeps  on  an  arm-chair  before  the  drawing-room 
fire ;  descends  the  moment  she  hears  the  servants 
about  in  the  morning,  and  makes  them  let  her  out ; 
comes  back  and  enters  Flu's  room  with  Eliza  regu 
larly  at  half-past  seven.  Then  she  comes  to  my 
door  and  gives  a  mew,  and  then  —  especially  if  I 
let  her  in,  and  go  on  writing  or  reading  without 
taking  any  notice  of  her  —  there  is  a  real  demon 
stration  of  affection,  such  as  never  again  occurs  in 
the  day.  She  purrs,  she  walks  round  and  round 
me,  she  jumps  in  my  lap,  she  turns  to  me  and  rubs 
her  head  and  nose  against  my  chin,  she  opens  her 
mouth  and  raps  her  pretty  white  teeth  against  my 
pen.  Then  she  leaps  down,  settles  herself  by  the 
fire,  and  never  shows  any  more  affection  all  day." 

Did  ever  another  Englishman  relate  such  infin 
itesimal  details  about  a  cat  ?  "  Morning  proceedings 
are  wonderful ! "  Why,  all  well-bred  pussies  give  a 
courteous,  and,  in  some  sort,  affectionate  salutation, 
by  way  of  beginning  the  day.  None  are  so  unwise 
as  to  prolong  their  caresses  to  the  point  of  weari- 


THE  CAT  TRIUMPHANT  177 

ness.  The  same  enviable  instinct  which  prompts 
them  to  offer  their  gentle  tokens  of  regard,  teaches 
them  sobriety  and  reserve. 

Mr.  Arnold  had  a  second  and  less  distinguished 
cat  named  Blacky,  about  whom  we  are  told  little, 
save  that  he  lost  one  of  his  legs  by  some  sad  acci 
dent,  and  went  about  contentedly  on  the  remaining 
three  all  the  years  of  his  life,  the  cheeriest  and  most 
agile  of  cripples.  Atossa  was  a  very  beautiful  Per 
sian  ;  and  who  that  has  read  the  pathetic  lament 
for  "  Poor  Matthias,"  can  forget  the  description  of 
her  compelling  and  sinister  loveliness  ? 

"  Thou  hast  seen  Atossa  sage 
Sit  for  hours  beside  thy  cage  ; 
Thou  wouldst  chirp,  thou  foolish  bird, 
Flutter,  chirp,  —  she  never  stirred  ! 
What  were  now  these  toys  to  her  ? 
Down  she  sank  amid  her  fur ; 
Eyed  thee  with  a  soul  resign'd, 
And  thou  deemedst  cats  were  kind ! 
—  Cruel,  but  composed  and  bland, 
Dumb,  inscrutable,  and  grand ; 
So  Tiberius  might  have  sat, 
Had  Tiberius  been  a  cat." 

And  so  Montaigne  might  have  written,  had  Mon 
taigne  been  a  poet.  The  attitude  of  the  two  men 
towards  the  animals  they  loved,  but  could  not  hope 
to  understand,  — an  unmoral,  unjudicial  attitude,  as 
remote  from  vindication  as  from  denunciation,  shows 


i78 


THE    FIRESIDE    SPHINX 


them  to  have  been  serene  students  of  natural  laws. 
"  Thus  freely  speaketh  Montaigne  concerning  cats," 
observes  Isaac  Walton  with  gravity  ;  and  thus  freely 
speaketh  Matthew  Arnold.  Both  knew  whereof 
they  spoke. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE 

"  Ella  jouait  avec  sa  chatte  ; 
Et  c'etait  merveille  de  voir 
La  main  blanche  et  la  blanche  patte 
S  'ebattre  dans  1'ombre  du  soir." 

TN  the  year  1865  ?ijngc  tie  paix  of  Fontainebleau, 
from  whom  several  householders  had  demanded 
legal  protection  for  their  cats,  pronounced  this 
admirable  judgment. 

"  That  the  domestic  cat  is  not  a  thing  of  naught, 
but  the  property  of  its  master,  and,  as  such,  entitled 
to  the  shelter  of  the  law  ; 

"That  the  utility  of  the  cat  as  a  destroyer  of 
mischievous  rodents  being  indisputable,  equity  de 
mands  the  extension  of  indulgence  to  an  animal 
which  the  law  tolerates  and  protects  ; 


i8o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

"  That  even  the  domestic  cat  is  of  a  mixed  nature ; 
that  is  to  say,  a  creature  which  is  partly  wild,  and 
which  must  ever  remain  so,  by  reason  of  its  destiny 
and  purpose." 

The  decision  further  asserts  that  no  citizen  is 
justified  in  taking  the  life  of  a  neighbour's  cat,  be 
cause  of  any  depredations  it  may  have  committed  ; 
but  the  interesting  clause  is  that  which  frankly 
acknowledges  Pussy's  independence  of  restraint. 
It  is  precisely  because  the  French  have  always  ad 
mitted  this  independence,  and  ungrudgingly  granted 
to  the  cat  her  freedom,  that  they  have  learned  to 
know  her  so  well,  and  to  cherish  her  so  fondly. 
Buffon  says  she  is  the  only  brute  which  accepts  the 
comforts,  but  rejects  the  bondage  of  domesticity; 
the  only  one  which  is  tamed  without  servitude.  M. 
Flourens  maintains  that  she  is  not  really  domes 
ticated  at  all,  because  she  neither  serves  us  nor 
associates  with  us,  save  capriciously,  and  as  her  own 
whims  dictate.  M.  Fee,  in  his  delightful  book, 
"Etudes  philosophiques  sur  1'Instinct  et  1'Intelli- 
gence  des  Animaux,"  defines  domesticity  as  that 
change  in  the  habits  of  a  bird  or  beast  which  brings 
it  within  the  scope  of  our  influence,  so  that  it  lives 
contentedly,  and  without  severe  restraint,  amid 
whatever  surroundings  we  provide.  According  to 
this  definition,  the  cat  is  truly  domestic.  No  animal 
enjoys  more  keenly  the  luxury  it  is  in  our  power  to- 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  181 

give,  and  no  animal  expresses  its  enjoyment  with  so 
much  grace  and  courtesy.  "  The  most  untamable 
of  the  carnivora,"  says  M.  Fee,  "is  the  panther; 
the  most  destructive  is  the  cougar  ;  the  gentlest  is 
the  leopard  ;  the  most  intelligent  is  the  cat.  This 
last  consents  to  be  our  guest.  She  accepts  the 
shelter  we  offer,  and  the  food  we  provide.  She 
even  permits  us  to  play  with  her,  and  fondle  her, 
when  she  is  in  a  responsive  humour.  But  she  never 
parts  with  her  liberty.  She  will  be  neither  our 
servant  nor  our  friend." 

True  lovers  of  the  race  have  been  attracted  rather 
than  repelled  by  this  spirit  of  equality,  this  attitude 
of  reserve.  "  I  value  in  the  cat,"  says  Chateaubri 
and,  "  the  independent  and  almost  ungrateful  spirit 
which  prevents  her  from  attaching  herself  to  any 
one,  the  indifference  with  which  she  passes  from 
the  salon  to  the  housetop.  When  we  caress  her, 
she  stretches  herself,  and  arches  her  back  respon- 
sively ;  but  that  is  because  she  feels  an  agreeable 
sensation,  not  because  she  takes  a  silly  satisfaction, 
like  the  dog,  in  faithfully  loving  a  thankless  master. 
The  cat  lives  alone,  has  no  need  of  society,  obeys 
only  when  she  pleases,  pretends  to  sleep  that  she 
may  see  the  more  clearly,  and  scratches  everything 
on  which  she  can  lay  her  paw." 

This  is  what  Chateaubriand  called  "  labouring  at 
the  rehabilitation  "  of  his  favourite  animal ;  but 


i8i  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

there  have  been  those  who  felt  he  did  her  scant 
justice.  According  to  M.  Fee,  the  cat  is  capable 
of  profound  affection,  though  it  is  an  affection  dif 
ficult  to  win,  and  easy  to  forfeit.  Moreover,  the 
manifestations  of  her  regard  can  never  be  forced. 
We  must  wait  for  her  caresses  until  she  is  pleased 
to  bestow  them ;  she  will  accept  ours,  only  when 
she  is  in  the  mood  for  endearments.  In  all  this 
she  offers  a  striking  contrast  to  the  dog,  who,  as 
Mme.  de  Custine  wittily  said,  "  seems  condemned 
to  love  us,"  •  —to  love  us,  however  contemptible  or 
unworthy  we  may  be.  His  steadfast,  unreasoning 
loyalty  is  beautiful  beyond  measure ;  but  we  can 
hardly  deny  that  it  feeds  our  vanity.  Here  is  a 
brave  and  intelligent  animal  with  whom  we  can 
be  always  as  lordly  as  we  please ;  who  never  ques 
tions  our  godlike  attributes ;  who  accepts  punish 
ment  meekly,  and  is  exuberantly  grateful  for  the 
smallest  attention,  the  most  trifling  token  of  esteem. 
What  wonder  that  we  sound  his  praises,  seeing  that, 
in  praising  him,  we  reflect  such  credit  on  ourselves  ? 
What  wonder  that  we  are  disposed  to  resent  the 
self-sufficing  nature  of  the  cat,  who  will  approach 
us  only  on  equal  terms,  who  cherishes  no  illusions 
concerning  our  goodness  and  greatness,  and  whose 
somewhat  contemptuous  indifference  wounds  our 
self-esteem  ?  Why,  it  is  asked,  should  we  humble 
ourselves  to  win  the  fluctuating  affections  of  a  cat, 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  183 

when  a  dog  stands  ever  ready  to  give  us  his  faithful 
heart,  without  condition  or  reserve  ? 

Why,  indeed,  save  that  some  of  us  most  desire 
that  which  is  difficult  to  obtain ;  that  some  of  us 
value  most  that  which  we  fear  to  lose.  When  with 
delicate  blandishments  we  have  beguiled  a  cat  from 
her  reserve,  when  she  responds,  coyly  at  first,  and 
then  with  graceful  abandon  to  our  advances,  when 
the  soft  fur  brushes  our  cheek,  when  the  gleam 
ing  eyes  narrow  sleepily,  and  the  murmurous  purr 
betrays  the  sweetness  of  her  content,  we  feel  like 
a  lover  who  has  warily  and  with  infinite  precaution 
stolen  from  his  capricious  mistress  the  first  tender 
token  of  possible  surrender.  One  cannot  woo  a  cat 
after  the  fashion  of  the  Conqueror.  Courtesy,  tact, 
patience  are  needed  at  every  step  ;  and  it  may  hap 
pen  that  when  the  victory  seems  fairly  won,  and 
we  think  the  wayward  little  animal  is  about  to 
spring  upon  our  knee,  she  turns  aside  instead  with 
pointed  coldness,  retreats  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  and  either  demands  to  have  the  door  opened 
that  she  may  escape  from  our  presence,  or  coils 
herself  with  humped  and  displeased  back  in  some 
shadowy  corner  where  she  may  forget  that  we 
exist.  This  is  perhaps  what  Sir  Thomas  Browne 
called  "  four-footed  manners,"  but  Pussy  is  never 
rude.  She  contrives,  on  the  contrary,  to  convey 
the  impression  that  it  is  the  offensive  nature  of  our 


1 84  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

devotion  which  compels  her  to  quietly  and  modestly 
withdraw. 

All  this,  Chateaubriand  understood,  and  accepted 
without  protest,  when  he  granted  to  the  cat  her 
freedom,  and  proclaimed  himself  the  least  exacting 
of  her  lovers.  Even  the  mysterious  nature  of  her 
past  history  allured  rather  than  repelled  him.  He 
it  is  who  tells  us  the  fantastic  story  of  Count  Com- 
bourg's  wooden  leg,  which,  three  hundred  years 
after  its  owner's  death,  was  wont  to  walk  abroad 
on  its  own  account,  accompanied  by  a  great  black 
cat.  When  the  moon  waned,  and  sleepers  woke 
trembling  with  the  terrors  of  the  night,  they  heard 
this  leg  hop  slowly  down  the  winding  turret  stairs, 
and  they  knew  that,  stealing  before  it  in  the  dark 
ness,  crept  the  cat,  with  tail  erect,  and  eyes  of  lam 
bent  flame.  It  would  not  have  been  a  pleasant 
thing  to  meet  that  little  phantom,  guarding  its  imp 
ish  prize. 

The  "  Memoires  d'outre  Tombe  "  contain  some 
charming  allusions  to  the  many  cats  whom  Chateau 
briand  loved  and  lost.  Through  all  the  vicissitudes 
of  his  changeful  life,  they  were  his  solace,  his  diver 
sion,  his  delight.  The  dreary  days  of  his  English 
exile  were  brightened  and  softened  by  the  com 
panionship  of  two  beautiful  pussies,  "  white  as 
ermines,  with  black  tips  to  their  tails  ;  "  —  pussies 
who  possessed  —  or  so  at  least  the  desolate  French- 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  185 

man  fancied  —  more  Gallic  vivacity  than  falls  to  the 
lot  of  most  Saxon  cats.  For  it  was  one  of  Chateau 
briand's  favourite  theories  that  domestic  animals 
share  in  an  extraordinary  degree  the  national  traits 
of  the  people  among  whom  their  lives  are  spent. 
He  delighted,  when  travelling,  to  observe  their 
expressions  and  demeanour,  declaring  that  he  saw 
reflected  in  them  the  expressions  and  demeanour 
of  their  masters;  —  the  gayety,  the  sadness,  the 
intelligence,  the  stupidity  which  they  daily  encoun 
tered  in  man.  Thus  the  German  beasts  had,  he 
felt,  "  the  temperate  character  of  their  reasonable 
owners;"  while  the  serious  silence,  the  subdued 
reserve  of  English  animals  oppressed  his  cheerful 
soul.  "The  London  sparrow,"  he  wrote  in  1798, 
"  all  blackened  with  smoke,  hops  drearily  about  the 
streets.  One  seldom  hears  a  clog  bark,  or  a  horse 
neigh,  and  even  the  free  and  independent  cat  ceases 
to  mew  upon  the  housetop." 

The  supreme  egotism  of  Chateaubriand  could 
hardly  fail  to  find  expression  in  his  most  generous 
utterances,  and  it  is  amusing  to  hear  him  proclaim 
himself  to  M.  de  Marcellus  the  champion  and  advo 
cate  of  the  cat,  because  she  was  "  one  of  the  works 
of  God  which  is  most  despised  by  man."  — "  Buf- 
fon,"  he  added,  "  has  belied  this  animal.  I  am 
labouring  at  her  rehabilitation,  and  hope  to  make 
her  appear  a  tolerably  good  sort  of  beast." 


1 86  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

In  reality,  men  were  far  more  occupied  with  cats 
about  this  time  than  they  were  with  Chateaubriand, 
though  he  managed  to  play  throughout  life  so  pro 
minent  a  part  in  the  public  eye.  He  followed  the 
trend  of  popular  enthusiasm,  and  thought  he  led 
it  ;  but  it  cannot  be  denied  that  his  devotion  to 
his  pets  was  sincere,  intelligent,  and  interpretative. 
He  stood  midway  between  the  harsh  depreciation 
of  Buff  on  and  the  ardent  favouritism  of  M.  Fee. 
Buffon  declared  the  cat  to  be  selfish,  treacherous, 
and  perverse ;  thievish  by  instinct ;  incapable  of 
either  domesticity  or  affection  ;  and  tolerated  under 
men's  roofs  only  because  she  destroyed  an  animal 
more  disagreeable  and  more  mischievous  than  her 
self.  M.  Fee,  on  the  other  hand,  considered  that 
whatever  seemed  lacking  in  Pussy  was  due  to  the 
stupidity  or  cruelty  of  her  masters.  She  was,  from 
his  point  of  view,  not  only  the  most  beautiful  of 
beasts,  but  one  of  the  most  affectionate,  if  she  could 
but  find  an  object  worthy  of  her  regard.  "The 
cat,"  he  says  proudly,  "  is  not  a  commonplace  crea 
ture  when  she  loves." 

Chateaubriand,  free  alike  from  antagonism  or 
delusion,  was  the  most  clear-sighted  of  the  three. 
He,  at  least,  valued  at  her  true  worth  the  little 
Sphinx  whose  ways  are  gentle,  whose  heart  is  cold, 
whose  character  is  inscrutable.  Vain  though  he 
was,  his  vanity  stopped  short  of  any  claim  upon 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  187 

her  confidence  or  devotion.  He  neither  demanded 
the  loyalty  he  knew  she  would  not  give,  nor  ignored 
the  friendship  she  was  sometimes  ready  to  bestow. 
Therefore  there  was  a  peculiar  fitness  in  his  inherit 
ing  from  Leo  the  Twelfth  the  superb  cat  who  had 
been  for  several  years  the  Pontiff's  most  intimate 
companion,  and  who  had  aroused  the  ambassador's 
admiration  by  his  beauty,  his  dignified  demeanour, 
and  a  certain  ascetic  charm,  derived  from  contact 
with  the  papacy.  The  Pope  was  abstemious,  after 
the  admirable  fashion  of  Italians ;  the  cat,  Micetto, 
was  abstemious  too,  living  on  a  little  polenta,  and 
wholly  weaned  from  the  carnivorous  habits  of  his 
race.  Chateaubriand,  in  a  well-known  passage  of 
his  "  Memoires,"  has  left  us  a  pretty  description 
of  the  pontifical  pet,  who  lived  in  France  to  a  serene 
old  age,  bearing  his  weight  of  honours  with  graceful 
propriety,  and  hardening  into  arrogance  only  when 
forced  to  repel  the  undue  familiarity  of  visitors. 

"  My  companion,"  he  writes,  "  is  a  large  grey  and 
red  cat,  banded  with  black.  He  was  born  in  the 
Vatican,  in  the  loggia  of  Raphael.  Leo  the  Twelfth 
reared  him  on  a  fold  of  his  white  robe,  where  I 
used  to  look  at  him  with  envy  when,  as  ambassador, 
I  received  my  audiences.  The  successor  of  Saint 
Peter  being  dead,  I  inherited  the  bereaved  animal. 
He  is  called  Micetto,  and  surnamed  '  the  Pope's 
cat,'  enjoying,  in  that  regard,  much  consideration 


i88  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

from  pious  souls.  I  endeavour  to  soften  his  exile, 
and  help  him  to  forget  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  the 
vast  dome  of  Michael  Angelo,  where,  far  from 
earth,  he  was  wont  to  take  his  daily  promenade." 

Many  Popes  besides  Leo  have  been  ardently 
attached  to  their  cats,  since  the  far-off  days  when 
the  great  Gregory  set  them  so  honourable  an  ex 
ample.  One  of  those  who  bore  his  name  most 
worthily,  the  gentle  and  learned  Gregory  the  Fif 
teenth,  —  he  who  founded  the  Propaganda,  yet  for 
bade  harsh  treatment  of  the  heretic, — was,  as  might 
be  surmised,  the  friend  and  patron  of  the  race, 
cherishing  his  own  pets  with  exceeding  fondness. 
Pius  the  Ninth  so  delighted  in  his  cat  that  he  shared 
his  meals  —  simple  as  Leo's  —  with  this  little  com 
panion,  whose  dish  wa$  placed  at  his  feet,  and  filled 
by  his  kind  old  hands. 

Victor  Hugo,  as  supreme  an  egotist  as  Chateau 
briand,  but  one  whose  egotism  was  more  strongly 
fortified  by  genius,  found  his  path  to  humility  lay 
in  the  comradeship  of  his  cats.  The  world  shouted 
itself  hoarse  over  his  greatness.  France  flung  her 
homage  at  his  feet,  and  dashed  her  applause  into 
his  face,  until  adamant  would  have  softened  into 
vanity.  "  The  nineteenth  century,"  cried  M.  Bar- 
bou  in  a  wild  access  of  hysteria,  "  will  have  but  one 
title  for  posterity.  It  will  be  called  the  century  of 
Victor  Hugo."  —  "  The  twin  towers  of  Notre  Dame 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  189 

are  the  H  of  Hugo,"  said  M.  Vacquerie ;  and  the 
remark  seems  to  have  been  considered  impressive, 
rather  than  exceptionally  foolish.  Even  in  child 
hood,  this  favourite  of  fortune  was  fed  with  sugared 
praise.  His  schoolboy  verses  on  "  The  Happiness 
which  Study  Affords  in  all  Situations  of  Life,"  were 
received  with  serious  transport,  as  though  so  admir 
able  a  sentiment  were  newly  born  ;  and  Chateau 
briand,  reading  them,  exclaimed  fervently,  "  Cet 
enfant  est  un  enfant  sublime." 

A  man  who  is  talked  to  and  written  about  in  this 
fashion  all  his  life  needs  the  corrective  influence 
of  cats,  and  happily  Victor  Hugo  was  blessed  in 
his  feline  society.  His  pussies  were  one  and  all 
serene,  supercilious,  and  inclined  to  ostentation, 
deeming  themselves  of  more  importance  than  the 
whole  race  of  human  scribblers.  There  was 
Mouche,  a  magisterial  cat,  defiant  and  reserved  ; 
and  the  beautiful  Chanoine,  too  indolent  for  self- 
assertion,  who  spent  most  of  her  life  sleeping  grace 
fully  and  undisturbed,  like  the  enchanted  Princess 
in  the  fairy  tale ;  and  there  was  that  superb  beast, 
deep-eyed  and  silken  furred,  whom  M.  Mery  stroked 
one  day  with  cautious  joy,  observing  :  "God  made 
the  cat  that  man  might  have  the  pleasure  of  caress 
ing  the  tiger."  The  curtained  and  cushioned  dais 
in  the  salon  of  the  Place  Royale  mansion,  about 
which  ill-natured  critics  laughed  maliciously,  was 


igo  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

more  frequently  occupied  by  cats  than  by  the  august 
author  of  "  Les  Miserables."  If  he  were  well  in 
clined  to  throne  himself,  so  indeed  were  they ;  and 
the  superior  nature  of  their  claims  was  readily 
granted  by  the  man  in  whom  their  empire  kept 
alive  the  saving  grace  of  modesty.  "  When  I  was 
young,"  says  M.  Champfleury,  "  I  had  the  honour 
of  being  received  by  Victor  Hugo  in  a  room  with 
a  big  red  dais,  on  which  reposed  a  cat  who  seemed 
to  await  the  homage  of  visitors.  He  had  a  huge 
ruff  of  white  fur  like  a  Chancellor's  tippet,  his 
whiskers  resembled  those  of  a  Hungarian  Magyar, 
and  when  he  advanced  in  a  stately  manner,  his 
brilliant  eyes  fixed  full  upon  my  face,  I  perceived 
that  he  had  modelled  himself  on  the  poet,  and  was 
reflecting  the  majestic  thoughts  that  seemed  to  fill 
the  chamber." 

Did  the  cat  model  himself  on  the  poet,  or  the 
poet  on  the  cat?  When  "each  seemed  either,"  it 
was  a  difficult  matter  to  decide. 

About  the  time  that  Victor  Hugo  was  gathering 
his  first  rich  crop  of  laurels,  a  certain  M.  Raton  — 
unknown  to  fame  —  published  in  Paris  a  very  seri 
ous  little  treatise,  "  Sur  1' Education  du  Chat  Domes- 
tique,"  preceded  by  "  Son  Histoire  Philosophique 
et  Politique,"  and  followed  by  an  elaborate  "Traite- 
ment  de  ses  Maladies."  It  is  a  book  of  amazing 
dulness.  M.  Raton  did  not  love  cats.  How  could 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  191 

one  of  his  name  be  reasonably  expected  to  love 
them  !  "  They  are,"  he  says,  "  deceitful  and  treach 
erous  by  instinct,  depraved  and  cruel  by  habit." 
The  best  that  can  be  offered  in  their  behalf  is  that 
their  perversity  is  less  criminal  than  that  of  men, 
being  a  natural  trait  instead  of  a  premeditated  ill- 
doing.  Buffon's  traducing  cynicisms  are  quoted 
lengthily  to  prove  that  even  the  youngest  kittens 
are  little  monsters  of  iniquity,  filled  with  inborn 
malice,  and  with  that  propensity  to  evil  which  the 
catechism  teaches  us  is  the  dark  shadow  cast  by 
original  sin.  "  Determined  thieves,  education  only 
makes  them  more  supple  and  alert.  They  know 
well  how  to  conceal  their  purpose,  to  seize  their 
opportunity,  to  cover  their  flight,  and  to  escape  re 
tribution.  They  easily  acquire  the  manners,  but 
never  the  morals  of  society." 

How  far  the  morals  of  society  are  in  advance  of 
the  morals  of  cats,  it  would  be  hard  to  determine. 

"  J'appelle  un  chat  un  chat,  et  Rolet  un  fripon; " 

says  Boileau,  who  plainly  found  little  to  choose 
between  them. 

The  really  curious  thing  about  M.  Raton's  treatise 
is  that  it  is  embodied  in  a  series  of  letters  addressed 
to  Madame  la  Superieure  du  Couvent  des  Visitan- 
dines  ;  and  one  cannot  help  wondering  why  the 
good  nun  should  have  desired  so  much  information 


192  THE    FIRESIDE    SPHINX 

upon  such  a  subject.  Is  it  possible  that  she  did 
not  know  in  what  manner  cats  catch  mice,  and 
needed  M.  Raton's  careful  explanation  ?  Was  she 
educating  little  kittens  as  well  as  little  girls  in  that 
particular  Visitation  convent,  and  did  she  feel  the 
necessity  for  this  manual  of  feline  accomplishments, 
this  Young  Cat's  Guide  to  Learning  ?  Above  all, 
why  should  the  author  have  chosen  the  ear  of  a 
religious  in  which  to  pour  the  scandalous  details 
of  Pussy's  moonlight  courtship  ?  The  chapter  en 
titled  "  Des  Amours  des  Chats "  appears  hardly 
fit  for  cloistered  readers.  "  I  venture  to  say," 
writes  the  Frenchman  blithely,  "that  this  is  not 
the  least  pleasant  part  of  my  narrative ;  "  and  one 
blushes  at  his  temerity.  What  was  Madame  la 
Superieure  du  Convent  des  Visitandines  thinking 
about,  when  she  permitted  such  unseemly  particu 
lars  to  receive  the  sanction  of  her  name  ! 

Neither  Buffon,  however,  nor  M.  Raton  —  fee 
bler  exponent  of  a  fast  dying  antagonism  —  could 
destroy  the  natural  affinity  between  men  of  letters 
and  their  cats,  an  affinity  strengthened  by  mutual 
understanding,  and  hours  of  silent  companionship. 
Sainte-Beuve's  cat  was  perhaps  the  finest  type  of 
his  thoughtful  race,  — a  studious  animal,  disinclined 
alike  to  careless  dalliance  or  to  gladiatorial  joys.  His 
pleasures  were  all  of  a  meditative,  sedentary  char 
acter.  He  would  sit  for  hours  on  his  master's  table, 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  193 

watching  that  swift  and  steady  pen  travelling  down 
the  page,  and  sometimes  encouraging  it  with  a  soft 
approving  pat.  He  would  step  gently  backward 
and  forward  over  the  loose  sheets  ;  the  delight 
which  all  cats  take  in  the  contact  of  crisp  paper 
being  doubtless  enhanced  in  his  case  by  apprecia 
tion  of  the  Causeries  with  which  those  sheets  were 
covered.  He  was  a  striking  contrast  in  every  re 
gard  to  the  vigorous  animal  that  loved  and  scorned 
Christopher  North  ;  but  then,  if  the  cats  were  dif 
ferent,  so  were  their  masters.  The  verdicts  of  the 
great  French  critic  were  respected  by  his  favourite ; 
but  what  cat  could  be  asked  to  respect  the  early 
criticisms  of  "  Maga  "  ? 

M.  Prosper  Merimee  was  one  of  the  most  ardent 
and  enthusiastic  cat-lovers  of  his  day.  He  found 
no  fault  with  these  cherished  creatures,  save  that 
they  were  exquisitely  sensitive,  and  too  easily  dis 
illusioned.  Their  intelligence  amazed,  their  polite 
ness  enchanted  him.  M.  Taine  was  inspired  by  his 
cats  to  rare  poetic  flights.  Historian,  essayist,  and 
critic,  he  willingly  abandoned  the  paths  of  studious 
prose  to  compliment  in  verse  the  suave  little  guests 
who  sat  purring  in  white  tippets  by  his  fire.  Twelve 
sonnets  prove  the  graceful  nature  of  his  attachment. 
They  are  dedicated,  "  To  three  cats,  '  Puss/  '  Ebene,' 
and  '  Mitonne,'  residing  at  Menthon-Saint-Bernard, 
Haute-Savoie  ;  "  and  they  are  signed,  with  mingled 


194  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

confidence  and  humility,  "  their  friend,  master,  and 
servant,  Hippolyte  Taine."  The  prettiest  of  them 
all  is  aptly  christened  — 

"  LA  PRATIQUE 

"  '  Cultive  ton  jardin,'  disaient  Goethe  et  Voltaire  ; 
Au-dela  ton  ouvrage  est  caduc  et  mort-ne  ; 
Enfermons  nos  efforts  dans  un  cercle  borne  ; 
Point  d'ecarts  ;  ne  cherchons  que  le  ciel  sur  la  terre. 

"  Ainsi  fait  notre  ami.     Comme  un  vieux  militaire, 
II  brosse  son  habit  sitot  qu'il  a  dine  ; 
Dans  son  domaine  etroit,  librement  confine, 
Ministre  de  sa  peau,  tout  a  son  ministere. 

"  II  s'epluche,  il  se  lisse,  il  sait  ce  qu'il  se  doit. 
Pauvre  petit  torchon  moins  large  que  le  doigt, 
Sa  langue  est  tour  a  tour  eponge,  etrille  ou  peigne. 

"  Son  nez  rejoint  son  dos  ;  il  leche  en  insistant ; 
Pas  un  poll  si  lointain  que  la  rape  n'atteigne. 
Goethe,  instruit  par  Voltaire,  en  a-t-il  fait  autant  ? " 

No  Frenchman,  save  Baudelaire  and  Gautier, 
have  carried  their  appreciation  to  a  higher  pitch 
than  did  Taine ;  and,  if  his  sentiment  lacks  the  fer 
vid  grace  of  Baudelaire's,  it  is  of  a  simpler,  saner, 
and  more  comprehensible  order.  How  far  the 
author  of  "  Fleurs  du  Mai  "  was  sincere  in  his  fan 
tastic  passion  for  cats  ;  how  far  he  diverted  himself 
by  provoking  the  curiosity  of  the  world,  or  by  alarm 
ing  its  prejudices  ;  and  how  far  the  world  —  its 
curiosity  and  prejudices  being  well  aroused  —  exag- 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  195 

gerated  the  extravagant  behaviour  of  the  poet,  are 
questions  hard  to  determine,  and  perhaps  not  worth 
determining.  M.  Champfleury,  who  was  a  friend, 
admits  the  lack  of  discretion  in  all  of  Baudelaire's 
fancies.  They  began  prettily,  soon  grew  burden 
some,  and  ended  too  often  in  the  grotesque.  "  Many 
a  time,"  he  writes,  "when  he  and  I  have  been  walk 
ing  together,  have  we  stopped  at  the  door  of  a 
laundry  to  look  at  a  cat,  curled  luxuriously  on  a 
pile  of  snow-white  linen,  and  revelling  in  the  fra 
grant  softness  of  the  newly-ironed  fabrics.  Into 
what  moods  of  contemplation  have  we  fallen,  while 
the  coquettish  laundresses  struck  pretty  attitudes 
at  their  ironing-boards,  under  the  delusion  that  we 
were  admiring  them.  If  a  cat  appeared  in  a  door 
way,  or  crossed  the  street,  Baudelaire  would  coax 
it  softly,  take  it  in  his  arms,  and  stroke  its  fur, 
—  sometimes  the  wrong  way.  Although  I  may 
seem  to  confirm  the  stories  that  were  circulated 
when  the  poet  was  attacked  by  hopeless  paralysis, 
I  must  admit  that  his  enthusiasm  had  in  it  some 
thing  startling  and  excessive.  This  made  him  a 
charming  companion  for  an  hour  or  so,  after  which 
he  became  fatiguing,  from  the  extreme  excitability 
which  all  who  knew  him  recognized  as  character 
istic." 

The  foolish  tales  current  at  the  time  may  easily 
be  discarded.     It    is    not    probable  that  the  poet, 


196  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

entering  a  friend's  house,  was  "  restless  and  un 
easy  "  until  he  had  seen  the  cat ;  or  that,  when  the 
animal  was  presented,  he  became  so  absorbed  in  its 
society  as  to  forget  his  hostess  and  her  guests. 
But  in  his  own  home,  and  during  his  brief  years  of 
health,  Baudelaire  found  an  exquisite  and  soothing 
pleasure  in  the  companionship  of 

"  Those  suave  and  puissant  cats,  the  household's  pride, 
Who  love  the  sedentary  life,  and  glow  of  fire." 

He  sang  their  praises  in  verse  as  delicate  as  their 
gentle  footfalls,  as  brilliant  as  their  half-shut  opal 
eyes,  as  mysterious  as  their  ineffable  and  sphinx- 
like  repose,  which  seems  like  the  repose  of  centu 
ries.  He  pleaded  their  cause  with  the  fervour  of  a 
lover  and  the  skill  of  an  advocate.  Their  sweet  and 
subtle  charm,  "  lost  on  the  vulgar,"  has  never  been 
more  finely  expressed  than  in  the  little  poem  called 
"  Les  Chats,"  which  is  simpler,  even  in  its  fantasies, 
than  Baudelaire's  verse  is  often  wont  to  be. 

"  Les  amoureux  fervents  et  les  savants  austeres 
Aiment  egalement,  dans  leur  mure  saison, 
Les  chats  puissants  et  doux,  orgueil  de  la  maison, 
Qui  comme  eux  sont  frileux,  et  comme  eux  sedentaires. 

"  Amis  de  la  science  et  de  la  volupte, 
Us  cherchent  le  silence  et  1'horreur  des  tenebres  ; 
L'Erebe  les  cut  pris  pour  ses  coursiers  funebres, 
S'ils  pouvaient  au  servage  incliner  leur  fierte. 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  197 

"  Us  prennent  en  songeant  les  nobles  attitudes 
Des  grands  sphinx  allonges  au  fond  des  solitudes, 
Qui  semblent  s'endormir  dans  un  reve  sans  fin. 

"  Leur  reins  feconds  sont  plein  d'etincelles  magiques, 
Et  des  parcelles  d'or,  ainsi  qu'un  sable  fin, 
Etoilent  vaguement  leur  prunelles  mystiques." 

When  the  poet  grows  more  personal,  when  he 
addresses  himself  in  an  ecstasy  of  adulation  to  a  par 
ticular  cat  rather  than  to  the  whole  beloved  race,  his 
lines  become  as  extravagant  in  sentiment  as  they 
are  harmonious  in  utterance.  The  little  verses  be 
ginning  — 

"  Viens,  mon  beau  chat,  sur  mon  coeur  amoureux, 
Retiens  les  griffes  de  ta  patte," 

are  riotous  in  their  blandishments  ;  and  even  this 
longer  and  finer  poem,  which  I  cannot  forbear  to 
quote  entire,  is  the  most  fantastic,  if  the  most  felici 
tous,  tribute  ever  laid  at  Pussy's  little  feet,  the  most 
highly  imaginative  verse  that  ever  immortalized  the 
memory  of  a  cat. 

"  Dans  ma  cervelle  se  promene, 
Ainsi  qu'en  son  appartement, 
Un  beau  chat,  fort,  doux  et  charmant. 
Quand  il  miaule,  on  1'entend  a  peine. 

"  Tant  son  timbre  est  tendre  et  discret ; 
Mais  que  sa  voix  s'apaise  ou  gronde, 
Elle  est  toujours  riche  et  profonde  ; 
C'est  la  son  charme  et  son  secret 


198  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

"  Cette  voix,  qui  perle  et  qui  filtre 
Dans  mon  fond  le  plus  tenebreux, 
Me  remplit  comme  un  vers  nombreux, 
Et  me  rejouit  comme  un  philtre. 

"  Elle  endort  les  plus  cruels  maux, 
Et  contient  toutes  les  extases  ; 
Pour  dire  les  plus  longues  phrases, 
Elle  n'a  pas  besoin  de  mots. 

"  Non,  il  n'est  pas  d'archet  qui  morde 
Sur  mon  cceur,  parfait  instrument, 
Et  fasse  plus  royal ement 
Chanter  sa  plus  vibrante  corde, 

"  Que  ta  voix,  chat  mysterieux, 
Chat  seraphique,  chat  etrange, 
En  qui  tout  est,  comme  en  un  ange, 
Aussi  subtil  qu'harmonieux  ! 


II 

"  De  sa  fourrure  blonde  et  brune 
Sort  un  parfum  si  doux,  qu'un  soir 
J'en  fus  embaume,  pour  1'avoir 
Caressee  une  fois,  rien  qu'une. 

"  C'est  1'esprit  familier  du  lieu  : 
II  juge,  il  preside,  il  inspire 
Toutes  choses  dans  son  empire  ; 
Peut-etre  est-il  fee,  est-il  dieu  ? 

"  Quand  mes  yeux,  vers  ce  chat  que  j'aime 
Tires  comme  par  un  aimant, 
Se  retournent  docilement, 
Et  que  je  regarde  en  moi-meme, 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  199 

"  Je  vois  avcc  etonnement 
Le  feu  de  ses  prunelles  pales, 
Clairs  fanaux,  vivantes  opales, 
Qui  me  contemplent  fixement." 

"The  boast  of  our  age,"  says  a  modern  cynic, 
"is  the  reverse  of  simplicity  ;  "  but  then  the  cat  is 
not  a  simple  animal.  When  poets  have  chosen  to 
write  simply  about  a  creature  so  curiously  complex, 
they  have  succeeded  merely  in  portraying  a  single 
trait  or  aspect  ;  something  easily  compassed  by 
even  a  limited  understanding,  as  Wordsworth  de 
scribed  the  gambols  of  the  kitten  on  the  wall. 
Nevertheless,  there  is  a  sweeter,  homelier  side  to 
man's  tenderness  for  any  animal ;  there  is  affection 
distinct  from  infatuation.  It  does  not  inspire  the 
poet,  —  how  should  it !  —  but  it  warms  our  hearts, 
as  nothing  save  kindness  and  the  knowledge  of 
kindness  can  ever  warm  them  in  a  world  chilled  by 
indifference  to  pain.  Madame  Michelet,  the  clever 
wife  and  collaboratrice  of  the  historian,  has  told  us 
in  "  L'Oiseau  "  a  plain  pathetic  little  story,  which 
contains  all  the  elements  of  tragedy  and  of  consola 
tion  that  go  to  make  up  life. 

"  My  father,"  she  writes,  "had  a  strong  sympathy 
for  cats.  This  was  the  result  of  early  experience. 
He  and  his  brother,  knocked  pitilessly  about  in 
their  childhood  between  the  harshness  of  home  and 
the  cruelty  of  school,  had,  for  solace  and  alleviation, 


200  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

two  well-loved  cats.  Affection  for  these  animals 
became  a  family  trait.  When  we  were  young,  each 
of  us  had  a  kitten.  We  gathered  round  the  fire  at 
night,  and  our  sleek,  well-fed  pets  sat  at  our  feet, 
basking  in  the  grateful  warmth. 

"  There  was  one  cat,  however,  that  never  j  oined 
the  circle.  He  was  a  poor  ugly  thing,  and  so  con 
scious  of  his  defects  that  he  held  aloof  with  invinci 
ble  shyness  and  reserve.  He  was  the  butt,  the 
souffre  douleur  of  our  little  society  ;  and  the  inborn 
malignity  of  our  natures  found  expression  in  the 
ridicule  with  which  we  pelted  him.  His  name  was 
Moquo.  He  was  thin  and  weak,  his  coat  was 
scanty,  he  needed  the  warm  fireside  more  than  the 
other  cats  ;  but  the  children  frightened  him,  and 
his  comrades,  wrapped  snugly  in  their  furry  robes, 
disdained  to  take  any  notice  of  his  presence.  Only 
my  father  would  go  to  the  dim,  cold  corner  where  he 
cowered,  pick  him  up,  carry  him  to  the  hearth,  and 
tuck  him  safely  out  of  sight  under  a  fold  of  his  own 
coat.  There,  warm,  safe,  and  unseen,  poor  Moquo 
would  take  courage,  and  softly  purr  his  gratitude. 
Sometimes,  however,  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  him, 
and  then,  in  spite  of  my  father's  reproaches,  we 
laughed  and  jeered  at  his  melancholy  aspect.  I  can 
still  recall  the  shadowy  creature  shrinking  away,  and 
seeming  to  melt  into  the  breast  of  his  protector, 
closing  his  eyes  as  he  crept  backward,  choosing  to 
see  and  hear  nothing. 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  201 

"There  came  a  day  when  my  father  left  us  for  a 
long  journey,  and  all  the  animals  shared  our  grief 
at  his  departure.  Time  after  time  his  dogs  trotted 
a  little  way  along  the  road  he  had  taken  to  Paris, 
howling  piteously  for  their  master.  The  most 
desolate  creature  in  the  house  was  Moquo.  He 
trusted  no  one ;  but,  for  a  while,  would  steal  to  the 
hearth,  looking  wistfully  and  furtively  at  my  fa 
ther's  vacant  place.  Then,  losing  hope,  he  fled 
to  the  woods,  to  resume  the  wild  and  wretched  life 
of  his  infancy ;  and,  though  we  tried,  we  never 
could  entice  him  back  to  the  home  where  he  no 
longer  had  a  friend." 

The  faithful  annalist  is  one  who  records  with 
equal  grace  the  life  of  court  and  cottage.  Not  like 
the  gay  old  historians  of  the  past  who  told  of  nothing 
but  kings  and  the  doings  of  kings,  of  battles  and 
the  glory  of  empire  ;  nor  like  their  modern  descend 
ants  whose  joyless  work  is  confined  to  blue  books 
and  statistics,  who  devote  pages  to  the  amendments 
of  some  insignificant  bill  worrying  its  way  through 
Parliament,  but  apologize  to  their  readers  for  a 
chance  allusion  to  the  Queen.  Rather  should  the 
chronicler  pass  con  amore  from  high  to  low,  and 
gladly  back  again  ;  leaving  the  "  suave  and  puissant  " 
beasts  of  Baudelaire's  fireside  for  their  poor  cousin 
of  the  woods,  and  returning  with  pleasure  to  the 
courtliest  records  of  cat  or  kittendom  ever  penned 


202  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

by  Frenchman,  since  Moncrif   flattered    the  high 
born  pussies  of  Paris  and  Versailles. 

The  Black  and  White  Dynasties  that  reigned 
over  M.  Theophile  Gautier's  hearth  have  been 
chronicled  by  him  with  surpassing  gayety  and  grace. 
He  is  the  true  "  historiogriffe,"  rather  than  poor 
Moncrif,  who  writhed  under  the  ridicule  implied  by 
a  title,  which  —  albeit  the  pun  is  but  a  poor  one  — 
would  have  delighted  Gautier's  soul.  The  author 
of  "  Menagerie  Intime "  was  as  catholic  in  his 
affection  for  animals  as  was  Cowper  or  Lord  Byron. 
To  dogs  he  was  ever  faithfully  attached,  and  was 
wont  to  make  some  boast  of  his  friendship  for  them, 
finding,  as  so  many  of  us  have  found,  that  when  he 
said  he  liked  dogs,  people  at  once  gave  him  credit 
for  frank  and  generous  sentiments.  Magpies,  cha 
meleons,  and  white  rats  were  also  favourites,  though 
he  vaunted  their  charms  less  loudly  to  a  prejudiced 
world.  But  cats  were  his  supreme  delight,  the 
crowning  passion  of  his  life.  Unswerving  in  his 
devotion,  he  loved  them  ardently  from  childhood ; 
and  tells  with  grateful  pride  how  his  mother's  big 
grey  cat  invariably  took  his  part  when  he  was  in 
disgrace,  and  used  to  bite  Mme.  Gautier's  legs 
when  she  scolded  her  little  son.  If,  later  on,  he 
transferred  his  allegiance  lightly  from  one  beautiful 
pet  to  another,  he  excuses  this  apparent  fickleness 
by  pleading  the  sad  brevity  of  feline  life,  the  incur- 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  203 

able  inconstancy  of  the  human  heart.  "  Dynasties 
of  cats,  as  numerous  as  the  dynasties  of  the  Pharaohs, 
succeeded  each  other  under  my  roof,"  he  confesses. 
"  One  after  another  they  were  swept  away  by  acci 
dent,  by  flight,  by  death.  All  were  loved  and  re 
gretted  ;  but  oblivion  is  our  common  fate,  and  the 
memory  of  the  cats  we  have  lost  fades  like  the 
memory  of  men." 

Which  —  or  rather  who  —  of  these  famous  pussies 
reigned  preeminent  over  the  rest  ?  To  whom  did 
Gautier  grant  his  flattering  preference  ?  We  can 
not  tell,  though  Madame  Theophile,  first  and  fairest 
of  the  group,  held  a  more  distinguished,  —  a  more 
legitimate  position  I  had  almost  said,  in  the  poet's 
house.  He  acknowledges  that  he  gave  her  his 
name  to  show  the  intimacy  of  their  friendship,  the 
closeness  of  their  mutual  regard.  Like  Chateau 
briand's  Micetto,  Madame  Theophile  was  a  reddish 
cat,  with  snowy  breast,  soft  blue  eyes,  and  the 
pinkest  of  little  pink  noses.  She  slept  at  the  foot 
of  her  master's  bed  ;  she  sat  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair  while  he  wrote  ;  she  walked  sedately  up  and 
down  the  garden  by  his  side ;  she  was  present  at 
all  his  meals,  and  frequently  intercepted  a  choice 
morsel  on  its  way  from  his.  plate  to  his  mouth. 
She  was  the  heroine  of  the  delightful  adventure 
with  the  parrot,  which  is  so  well  known  to  readers, 
but  which  I  cannot  refrain  from  quoting  once  again. 


2o4  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Indeed,  though  the  whole  history  of  the  Black  and 
White  Dynasties  has  been  told  and  retold  until  it  is 
as  familiar  as  fairy  stories,  it  must  bear  yet  one 
more  telling,  because  of  the  melancholy  incomplete 
ness  of  any  cat-book  from  which  it  were  omitted. 
Like  Gray's  verses  to  the  ill-fated  Selima,  like  the 
legend  of  Dick  Whittington,  like  Puss-in-Boots,  or 
the  oft-repeated  tale  of  Mohammed's  Muezza,  it  is 
part  of  the  annals  of  cathood.  To  exclude  this 
narrative  because  of  its  charming  familiarity,  would 
be  like  excluding  the  Crusades,  the  tournaments, 
the  Cavaliers,  from  England's  glorious  chronicles. 
Great  Pasht  forbid  that  the  history  of  pussies  should 
be  written  from  the  blue-book  and  statistic  point  of 
view ;  or  that  the  shades  of  Madame  Theophile,  of 
Eponine,  of  Don  Pierrot,  and  Gavroche  should  ever 
cease  to  smile  upon  their  little  brothers  and  sisters 
who  frolic  by  our  hearths  to-day. 

The  parrot  that  figures  so  dramatically  in  Gau- 
tier's  story  was  not  by  rights  a  member  of  the  me 
nagerie.  It  was  sent  to  the  poet's  hospitable  home 
to  be  entertained  during  its  owner's  absence  from 
Paris,  and  the  fact  that  Madame  Theophile  had 
never  before  seen  such  a  bird,  intensified  the  inter 
est  of  their  meeting.  "  Motionless  as  a  cat  mummy 
in  its  swathing-bands,"  says  Gautier,  "  she  fixed  a 
profoundly  meditative  gaze  upon  the  creature,  sum 
moning  to  her  aid  all  the  notions  of  natural  history 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  205 

that  she  had  picked  up  in  the  garden  and  on  the 
roof.  The  shadow  of  her  thoughts  passed  over  her 
changing  eyes,  and  we  could  plainly  read  in  them 
the  conclusion  to  which  her  scrutiny  led  :  '  De 
cidedly  this  is  a  green  chicken.' 

"  Having  determined  so  much,  Madame  Theophile 
leaped  from  the  table  whence  she  had  made  her 
observations,  and  crouched  flat  on  the  ground,  in 
the  attitude  of  Gerome's  panther,  watching  the 
gazelles  as  they  come  down  to  drink.  The  parrot 
followed  every  motion  with  feverish  anxiety.  He 
ruffled  his  feathers,  rattled  his  chain,  lifted  his  feet 
nervously,  and  rubbed  his  beak  against  the  side  of 
his  trough.  Instinct  told  him  that  the  cat  was  an 
enemy,  and  meant  mischief.  Madame  Theophile's 
eyes  were  now  fixed  upon  the  bird  with  terrible 
intensity,  and  they  said  in  language  which  the  poor 
parrot  distinctly  understood  :  '  This  chicken  ought 
to  be  good  to  eat,  although  it  is  green.'  We 
watched  the  little  drama  breathlessly,  ready  to  inter 
fere  at  need.  The  cat  crept  slowly,  almost  imper 
ceptibly,  nearer  and  nearer.  Her  pink  nose  quiv 
ered,  her  eyes  were  half  closed,  her  claws  moved 
in  and  out  of  their  velvet  sheaths,  slight  thrills  of 
pleasure  shivered  along  her  spine  at  the  thought  of 
the  repast  that  awaited  her.  Such  novel  and  exotic 
food  tempted  her  appetite. 

"  Suddenly  her  back  bent  like  a  bow,  and  with 


206  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

a  vigorous  and  elastic  spring  she  leaped  upon  the 
perch.  The  parrot,  seeing  the  imminence  of  his 
danger,  cried  in  a  voice  as  deep  as  M.  Prudhomme's  : 
'  As-tu  dejeune,  Jacquot  ? ' 

"  This  utterance  so  terrified  the  cat  that  she  fell 
backwards.  The  blare  of  a  trumpet,  the  report  of 
a  pistol,  could  not  have  frightened  her  more  thor 
oughly.  All  her  ornithological  ideas  were  over 
thrown. 

"  '  Et  de  quoi  ?  —  Du  roti  du  roi  ? '  continued  the 
parrot. 

"  Then  might  we,  the  observers,  read  in  the  coun 
tenance  of  Madame  Theophile :  '  This  is  not  a 
bird  ;  it  speaks  ;  it  is  a  gentleman.'  ' 

The  cat  so  loved  and  honoured  by  her  master  had 
other  tastes  less  carnal,  other  instincts  less  mur 
derous.  She  delighted  in  perfumes  and  in  music. 
India  shawls,  lifted  from  their  boxes  of  sandalwood, 
and  exhaling  faint  aromatic  odours  of  the  East,  in 
toxicated  her  voluptuously.  She  stretched  her  deli 
cate  limbs  on  their  soft  folds,  and  dreamed  vague 
dreams  of  caravans,  and  of  fair  Persian  pussies  car 
ried  over  the  red  sands  of  Arabia.  The  vibrations 
of  the  piano  or  of  the  human  voice  thrilled  her 
with  pleasure  and  with  pain.  She  would  listen 
drowsily  while  the  music  was  faint  and  low  ;  but 
high  notes  irritated  her  nerves,  and  if  a  soprano 
grew  too  piercingly  sweet,  she  would  leap  up  and 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  207 

lay  a  gentle,  remonstrating  paw  upon  the  singer's 
lips.  Again  antf  again,  says  Gautier,  this  experi 
ment  was  tried  by  guests  who  deemed  such  inter 
ruption  an  amusement ;  and  again  and  again  it  had 
the  same  result.  Beyond  a  certain  pitch,  their 
voices  were  never  permitted  to  rise.  "  The  dilettante 
in  fur  was  not  to  be  deceived." 

After  Madame  Theophile,  the  cat  who  seems  to 
have  lain  closest  to  his  master's  heart  was  Pierrot, 
so  named  in  infancy  because  he  wore  spotless  white  ; 
though  later  in  life  he  won  for  himself  a  more  dis 
tinguished  title,  —  like  Bentham's  Sir  John  Lang- 
bourne, —  and  became  known  to  Parisian  society  as 
Don  Pierrot  de  Navarre.  He  was  of  an  affectionate 
disposition,  though  tranquil  and  self-contained ; 
never  effusive,  but  delighting  in  the  refinements  of 
confidential  and  sympathetic  intercourse.  "  He 
shared  the  life  of  the  household,"  writes  M.  Gautier, 
"with  that  enjoyment  of  quiet  fireside  friendship 
which  is  a  characteristic  of  cats.  He  had  his  own 
place  on  the  hearth,  and  would  sit  there  for  hours, 
listening  to  conversation  with  a  well-bred  air  of 
intelligence  and  interest.  He  glanced  occasionally 
from  speaker  to  speaker,  and  addressed  them  with 
little  half  -  articulate  sounds,  as  though  protesting 
politely  against  their  statements,  or  offering  an 
opinion  of  his  own  upon  the  matter  under  discus 
sion.  He  loved  books,  and,  when  he  found  one 


208  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

open  upon  the  table,  would  lie  down  on  it,  turn  over 
the  edges  of  the  leaves  with  his  paw,  and,  after  a 
time,  fall  asleep,  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  had  been 
reading  a  fashionable  novel.  He  gave  a  good  deal 
of  attention  to  my  work,  and,  while  I  wrote,  would 
follow  the  movement  of  my  pen  with  serious  scru 
tiny,  taking  note  of  each  new  line,  and  sometimes 
pushing  the  penholder  gently  from  my  fingers,  as 
though  anxious  to  add  a  few  words  of  his  own.  He 
was  an  aesthetic  cat,  like  Hoffmann's  Murr,  and  had, 
I  strongly  suspect,  been  guilty  of  writing  his  me 
moirs  ;  scribbling  away  probably  at  night,  in  some 
shadowy  gutter,  by  the  light  of  his  own  lambent 
eyes.  Unhappily  these  invaluable  reminiscences 
have  been  lost. 

"  Don  Pierrot  made  a  point  of  never  going  to  bed 
until  I  came  home.  He  used  to  wait  for  me  in  the 
hall,  greet  me  with  friendly  purrs,  and  precede  me 
to  my  chamber  like  a  page.  I  have  no  doubt  that, 
if  I  had  asked  him,  he  would  have  carried  the  can 
dlestick.  He  slept  on  the  back  of  my  bedstead, 
carefully  balanced  like  a  bird  on  a  bough,  and,  when 
I  awoke  in  the  morning,  would  jump  down  and 
nestle  beside  me  until  I  arose.  He  was  strict  as  a 
concierge,  however,  in  his  notions  of  the  proper 
time  for  all  good  people  to  be  indoors,  and  would 
tolerate  nothing  later  than  midnight.  In  those 
days  I  belonged  to  a  little  society,  known  as  'The 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  209 

Four  Candles  Club; '  -  —  the  light  in  the  room  being 
restricted  to  four  candles,  burning  in  four  silver 
candlesticks,  at  the  four  corners  of  the  table. 
Sometimes  the  talk  became  so  animated  that,  like 
Cinderella,  I  forgot  the  hour;  and  once  or  twice 
Pierrot  sat  up  for  me  until  two  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing.  This  appeared  to  him  unreasonable  ;  therefore 
he  ceased  his  attentions  altogether,  and  retired  to 
rest  without  me.  I  was  touched  by  his  mute  pro 
test  against  my  innocent  dissipation,  and  resolved 
to  return  thenceforth  faithfully  at  twelve.  Pierrot, 
doubtful  at  first  of  the  permanency  of  my  reform, 
waited  until  he  saw  that  my  conversion  was  sincere, 
and  then  resumed  his  old  post  by  the  door. 

"  It  is  a  difficult  matter  to  gain  the  affection  of 
a  cat.  He  is  a  methodical  animal,  tenacious  of  his 
own  habits,  fond  of  order  and  neatness,  and  disin 
clined  to  extravagant  sentiment.  He  will  be  your 
friend,  if  he  finds  you  worthy  of  friendship,  but  not 
your  slave.  His  tenderness  never  costs  him  his 
freedom.  Yet  what  confidence  is  implied  in  his 
steadfast  companionship  through  hours  of  solitude, 
of  melancholy,  and  of  work.  He  lies  for  long  even 
ings  on  your  knee,  purring  contentedly,  and  forsak 
ing  for  you  the  agreeable  society  of  his  kind.  In 
vain,  melodious  mewings  on  the  roof  invite  him  to 
one  of  those  animated  assemblies  where  fish  bones 
take  the  place  of  tea  and  cake.  He  is  not  to  be 


210  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

tempted  from  his  post.  Put  him  down,  and  he  will 
jump  up  again  with  plaintive  murmurs  of  reproach. 
Sometimes  he  sits  at  your  feet,  looking  into  your 
face  with  an  expression  so  gentle  and  caressing  that 
the  depth  of  his  gaze  startles  you.  Who  can  be 
lieve  that  there  is  no  soul  behind  those  luminous 
eyes  ! 

"  Don  Pierrot  cle  Navarre  had  a  sweetheart  as 
dazzlingly  white  as  he  was  himself.  By  her  side  the 
ermine  would  have  looked  yellow.  Seraphita,  for 
so  this  lovely  creature  was  named  in  honour  of  Bal 
zac's  Swedenborgian  romance,  was  gentle,  dreamy, 
and  contemplative.  She  would  sit  motionless  on 
her  cushion  for  hours,  wide  awake,  her  eyes  follow 
ing,  in  a  rapture  of  attention,  sights  invisible  to  us. 
She  was  the  most  luxurious  of  all  my  cats,  and  was 
ever  to  be  found  on  the  softest  rug,  or  in  the  easiest 
chair.  Though  reserved,  she  was  fond  of  caresses, 
and  would  return  them  with  grace  to  those  whom 
she  favoured  with  her  esteem.  She  devoted  a  great 
deal  of  time  every  day  to  her  toilet,  cleaning  and 
polishing  her  glossy  coat  with  her  pink  tongue  until 
it  shone  like  burnished  silver.  If  any  one  rumpled 
the  sleek  fur,  she  would  instantly  and  carefully  lick 
it  smooth  again.  To  be  dishevelled  was  beyond 
endurance.  Perfumes  delighted  her,  and  she  would 
thrust  her  little  nose  into  bouquets,  bite  daintily  at 
scented  handkerchiefs,  and  walk  with  wary  footsteps 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  211 

among  the  bottles  on  a  toilet-table,  smelling  wist 
fully  at  the  stoppers.  No  doubt  she  would  have 
used  the  powder  puff,  had  she  been  permitted. 

"  Don  Pierrot,  who  came  from  Havannah,  required 
a  hothouse  temperature,  and  in  this  he  was  always 
gratified.  The  house  was  surrounded,  however,  by 
spacious  gardens,  over  the  walls  of  which  cats  could 
easily  climb.  Pierrot  would  often  take  advantage 
of  an  open  door,  and  go  bird-hunting  at  dusk  through 
the  wet  grass  and  flower  beds.  It  even  happened, 
now  and  then,  that  his  cries  for  readmission  were 
not  heard,  and  he  was  compelled  to  spend  the  night 
out  of  doors.  In  this  way  he  caught  a  heavy  cold 
which  rapidly  developed  into  phthisis.  Before  the 
end  of  the  year  he  had  wasted  to  a  skeleton,  and 
his  fur,  once  so  silky,  was  of  a  dull  harsh  white. 
His  eyes  looked  large  in  his  shrunken  face,  the 
pink  of  his  little  nose  had  faded,  and  he  dragged 
himself  slowly  along  the  sunny  side  of  the  wall, 
looking  with  melancholy  listlessness  at  the  yellow 
leaves  as  they  danced  and  whirled  in  the  wind. 
We  did  all  in  our  power  to  save  him.  The  doctor 
felt  his  pulse,  sounded  his  lungs,  and  ordered  him 
ass's  milk.  He  drank  it  with  ready  obedience  out 
of  his  own  especial  saucer.  For  hours  he  lay  upon 
my  knee  like  the  shadow  of  a  sphinx.  I  felt  his 
spine  under  my  finger  tips  like  the  beads  of  a  rosary, 
and  he  tried  to  respond  to  my  caresses  with  a  feeble 


212  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

and  rattling  purr.  On  the  day  of  his  death  he  was 
lying  panting  upon  his  side,  when  suddenly,  and  as 
though  by  a  supreme  effort,  he  arose  and  staggered 
weakly  towards  me.  His  great  eyes  were  wide- 
stretched,  and  raised  to  mine  with  a  look  of  agonized 
supplication,  as  though  they  said  :  '  Save  me,  save 
me,  you  who  are  a  man  !  '  Then  they  glazed  ;  he 
took  a  few  faltering  steps  and  fell  down,  uttering 
a  cry  so  lamentable  and  full  of  anguish  that  I  stood 
staring,  dumb  and  horror-stricken,  at  his  little 
corpse.  He  was  buried  in  the  garden  under  a  white 
rose-tree  which  still  marks  his  grave.  Three  years 
later,  Seraphita  died,  and  was  laid  by  his  side. 
With  her  the  White  Dynasty  became  extinct." 

Of  the  Black  Dynasty  which  succeeded,  Gautier 
has  much  to  say  ;  but  he  never  evinces  for  its  small 
autocrats  the  same  tenderness  of  affection  lavished 
upon  Pierrot  and  Madame  Theophile.  Nature,  in  a 
jesting  mood,  had  bestowed  on  Seraphita  and  her 
mate  three  kittens,  black  as  ebony.  To  indifferent 
eyes  they  looked  as  much  alike  as  three  ink-spots ; 
but,  from  their  earliest  infancy,  Gautier  distin 
guished  with  ease  the  little  faces,  "sooty  as  Harle 
quin's  mask,  and  lighted  by  discs  of  emerald  with 
golden  gleams."  These  kittens  offered  striking  con 
trasts  of  character  and  disposition.  Enjolras  was 
solemn,  pretentious,  aldermanic  from  his  cradle ; 
even  theatrical  at  times  in  his  vast  assumption  of 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  213 

dignity.  Gavroche  was  a  born  Bohemian,  enam 
oured  of  low  company,  and  of  the  careless  come 
dies  of  life.  Their  sister  Eponine  —  best  loved  of 
the  three  —  was  a  delicate,  fastidious  little  creature, 
with  an  exquisite  sense  of  propriety,  and  of  the 
refinements  of  social  intercourse.  Enjolras  was 
a  glutton,  caring  for  nothing  so  much  as  for  his 
dinner.  Gavroche,  more  generous,  would  bring 
in  from  the  streets  gaunt  and  ragged  cats,  who 
devoured  in  a  scurry  of  fright  the  food  laid  aside 
for  him.  "  I  was  often  tempted  to  remonstrate," 
writes  Gautier,  "  and  to  say  to  the  little  scamp, 
'  A  nice  lot  of  friends  you  do  pick  up  !  '  But  I  re 
frained.  After  all,  it  was  an  amiable  weakness. 
He  might  have  eaten  his  dinner  himself." 

Eponine  was  piquant  rather  than  beautiful.  Her 
little  velvety  nose  looked  like  a  fine  truffle  of  Peri- 
gord.  Her  eyes  had  the  oblique  slant  of  the  Orient, 
and  were  sea-green  like  the  eyes  of  Pallas-Athene, 
or  of  that  fair  Dame  de  Eayel,  to  whom  the  Sire 
de  Coucy,  dying  in  the  Holy  Land,  sent  back  his 
heart  by  a  trusted  squire,  and  whose  husband,  dis 
covering  the  contents  of  the  box,  forced  her  to  eat  it, 
of  which  horror  she  died.  In  the  Sire  de  Coucy's 
passionate  verses,  his  lady's  eyes  are  described  as 
green  "like  a  cat's  ;  "  for  no  other  colour,  cries  the 
lover  rapturously,  can  inspire  ardour  and  adoration 
in  the  human  heart. 


2i4  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Eponine,  with  her  sea-green  eyes,  her  narrow 
face,  her  impertinent  nose,  her  small  and  delicate 
limbs,  had  an  air  of  distinction  which  charmed 
Gautier's  appreciative  friends.  She  was  a  polite 
little  cat,  rather  fond  of  company,  and  would  re 
ceive  his  guests  with  cordial  pleasure,  purring 
as  she  stepped  from  one  chair  to  another,  as  though 
to  say  :  "  Don't  be  impatient.  Look  at  the  pictures, 
or  talk  to  me,  if  I  amuse  you.  My  master  is  coming 
down."  On  his  appearance,  she  would  retire  dis 
creetly  to  an  armchair,  or  to  a  corner  of  the  piano, 
and  listen  to  the  conversation  without  interrupting 
it,  being  French,  and  accustomed  to  good  society. 

If  Gautier  dined  alone,  Eponine's  place  was  laid 
opposite  to  his  ;  and,  when  he  came  into  the  dining- 
room,  he  found  her  always  in  her  chair,  waiting 
serenely  for  his  arrival.  She  would  place  her  fore- 
paws  daintily  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  present 
her  smooth  forehead  to  be  kissed,  "  like  a  well-bred 
little  girl  who  is  affable  and  affectionate  to  relatives 
and  old  people."  Even  the  best  trained  children, 
however,  have  their  likes  and  dislikes  in  the  matter, 
of  food,  and  Eponine  sometimes  found  it  a  hard 
task  to  eat  everything  that  was  placed  before  her. 
Soup  was  her  particular  aversion,  and  once  in  a 
while  she  tried  to  omit  that  course  from  her  dinner. 
Then  Gautier  would  say  to  her  courteously  but 
firmly :  "  Mademoiselle,  a  young  lady  who  is  not 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  215 

hungry  for  soup  is  not  expected  to  have  any  appe 
tite  for  fish;"  —whereupon  —  sensible  to  the  re 
proof  —  she  would  obediently  lap  up  her  little  plate 
of  potagc,  and  wait  for  her  reward  to  come  at  fish 
time. 

Eponine  survived  her  brothers  many  years.  En- 
jolras  was  tragically  slain.  Gavroche,  seduced  by 
wild  companions,  envying  them  the  uneasy  freedom 
of  their  lives,  and  agreeing,  doubtless,  with  Meyer 
beer's  small  daughter  that  it  was  a  great  misfortune 
to  have  had  genteel  parents,  leaped  one  morning 
from  an  open  window,  and  was  never  seen  again. 
Little  Bohemian  of  Paris,  he  bartered  all  the  luxu 
ries  of  home  for  the  hardships,  the  perils,  the  sweet 
transient  joys  that  the  great,  cruel,  beautiful,  and 
best  loved  city  in  the  world  gives  to  its  vagabond 
children. 

His  place  was  filled  by  a  silver-grey  Angora 
named  Zizi,  who  spent  her  days  in  a  kind  of  com- 
templative  trance,  like  a  Buddhist  saint.  Music 
alone  could  rouse  her  from  her  dreams.  She  would 
listen  with  sleepy  satisfaction,  and  even  exert  her 
self  so  far  as  to  walk  up  and  down  the  keys  of  the 
piano,  imitating,  according  to  her  fancy,  the  sounds 
that  she  had  heard.  Zizi  had  little  of  the  tact  and 
social  grace  which  distinguished  Eponine,  and  which 
never  deserted  that  adorable  cat,  even  in  advanced 
age.  Like  so  many  famous  Frenchwomen,  she  re- 


216  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

tained  her  sprightliness  and  charm  until  the  end ; 
and  left  behind  her  nothing  but  cheerful  memories 
upon  which  it  is  a  pleasure  to  dwell.  She  was  the 
last  of  the  Black  Dynasty.  In  her  corner  of  Ely 
sium  she  plays  forever  with  the  other  pussies  of  her 
royal  race;  and  perhaps  her  urbane  little  shade 
was  the  first  to  greet  and  welcome  two  cats,  —  two 
fortunate  and  famous  cats  who  died  in  France  not 
very  long  ago  ;  Moumoutte  Blanche  and  Moumoutte 
Chinoise,  immortalized  by  M.  Loti's  facile  pen. 

No  one  familiar  with  the  "  Vies  de  Deux  Chattes," 
can  hope  to  rival  these  short  and  exquisite  biogra 
phies.  Their  perfection  is  at  once  the  delight  and 
the  despair  of  other  toilers  in  the  field.  Written, 
says  the  author,  "  for  my  son,  Samuel,  when  he 
knows  how  to  read,"  they  have  recompensed  many 
of  us  for  the  sad  labour  of  the  alphabet ;  for  the 
double  labour  of  two  alphabets,  if  we  chance  to  be 
Saxon  born.  People  to  whom  a  primrose  is  a  prim 
rose,  and  a  cat  a  cat,  may  be  liberally  educated  by 
a  sympathetic  study  of  these  delicate  and  discrimi 
nating  memoirs.  Less  playful  and  amusing  than 
M.  Gautier's  chronicles,  they  show  a  deeper  insight 
into  feline  character  ;  they  are  more  close  and  ac 
curate  in  their  descriptions,  more  touching  in  their 
pathos,  more  clear-sighted  in  their  generalizations. 
Gautier's  cats  have,  each  and  all,  a  charming  individ 
uality.  We  feel  their  beauty,  we  acknowledge  their 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  217 

virtues,  we  love  their  faults.  But  the  two  little 
creatures  who  shared  between  them  the  fickle  heart 
of  M.  Loti  have  been  painted  for  us  in  such  gen 
erous  colours,  and  with  such  consummate  art,  that 
they  live  in  his  pages  as  the  Black  Prince  and  Du 
Guesclin  live  in  the  heroic  pages  of  Froissart. 

Never  were  friends  more  widely  separated  by 
birth,  breeding,  or  the  accidents  of  early  life.  Mou- 
moutte  Blanche  was  a  Persian  pussy,  beautiful  as 
Scheherazade,  gentle  as  Zobeide,  discreet  as  Fatima, 
—  the  Prophet's  fair  daughter,  not  Bluebeard's  pry 
ing  wife.  She  was  adopted  by  M.  Loti  in  early 
kittenhood,  when  the  innocence  of  infancy  still  lin 
gered  in  her  lovely  eyes,  and  the  playfulness  of 
infancy  prompted  her  to  much  "  ground  and  lofty 
tumbling,"  wherein  he  took  delight.  She  was  not 
wholly  white,  as  her  name  would  imply  ;  and  her 
patches  of  black  fur  suggested  to  his  fancy  —  which 
is  a  Gallic  fancy  always  —  a  little  bonnet  shading 
her  smooth  brow,  and  a  \\t\\Qp4lerine  thrown  over 
her  snowy  shoulders.  Her  gentleness  was  reserved 
for  her  master  and  for  his  household.  Like  the 
beautiful  and  intrepid  Menine  of  Mme.  de  Lesdi- 
guieres,  she  was 

"  Chatte  pour  tout  le  monde,  et  pour  les  Chats,  Tigresse." 

"  Refined,  correct,  an  aristocrat  to  the  tips  of  her 
little  claws,"  says  Loti,  "  she  so  detested  other  cats, 
as  to  forget  her  manners  sadly  whenever  a  visitor 


218  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

ventured  to  call  upon  her.  In  her  own  domain  she 
brooked  no  intrusion.  If  over  the  garden  wall  two 
little  ears  were  raised,  two  little  eyes  peered  fur 
tively  ;  if  a  rustle  in  the  boughs,  a  trembling  of  the 
ivy  leaves  awakened  her  suspicion,  she  sprang  at 
the  stranger  like  a  young  Fury,  her  fur  bristling 
to  the  point  of  her  tail.  It  was  impossible  to  hold 
her  back,  and  presently  we  who  listened  would  hear 
the  sound  of  scuffling,  a  fall,  and  lamentable  cries." 
A  wayward,  spoiled,  capricious  beauty  was  Mou- 
moutte  Blanche,  loving  her  master  after  the  fashion 
of  her  race,  steadfastly  but  without  docility,  and 
extending  some  portion  of  her  careless  regard  to 
other  members  of  the  family.  For  five  years  she 
reigned  without  a  rival.  For  five  years  M.  Loti 
came  and  went,  as  the  fortunes  of  war  called  him 
to  sea  or  permitted  his  return ;  and  ever  she  was 
the  first  to  welcome  him  under  the  roof  she  deemed 
her  own.  Then  came  a  day  when,  three  thousand 
miles  from  France,  fate  flung  across  his  path  the 
strange  and  bizarre  little  creature  known  to  us  as 
Moumoutte  thinoise,  and  he  made  swift  surrender 
of  his  affections. 

"  Men  were  deceivers  ever  ; 
One  foot  in  sea,  and  one  on  shore, 
To  one  cat  constant  never." 

The  new  favourite  —  like  so  many  favourites  — 
was  meanly  born,    poor  and   wretched.     Sh.e   was 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  21 

also,  which  is  the  unusual  feature  of  the  case,  di: 
tressingly  ugly.  It  was  at  the  close  of  a  long  skii 
mish  —  hardly  worthy  to  be  called  a  battle  —  in  th 
Yellow  Sea,  that  she  leaped  from  a  Chinese  jun 
to  the  French  warship,  and,  guided  by  instinct  c 
destiny,  took  refuge  in  Loti's  cabin,  —  a  piteou 
object,  meagre,  terrified,  miserable,  the  most  forlor 
and  desolate  of  intruders,  but  absolutely  determine 
to  remain. 

Loti,  to  do  him  justice,  did  not  yield  without 
protest.  The  strange  Moumoutte  was  not  attra< 
tive,  and  she  was  sadly  in  the  way ;  but,  when  h 
put  her  out,  she  scuttled  directly  back  again,  alway 
fixing  on  him  a  gaze  so  human  and  so  implorin 
that  he  was  fascinated  by  its  intensity.  In  the  en 
she  triumphed,  and  was  for  seven  months  his  clos 
and  constant  companion  ;  while  Moumoutte  Blanch* 
far  away  in  France,  drowsed  in  the  sunny  garde 
paths,  and  dreamed  of  his  return.  Propinquity,  a 
we  know,  is  the  one  sure  road  to  love  ;  and,  durin 
those  seven  months,  master  and  cat  had  rare  oppoi 
tunities  for  intimate  acquaintance.  A  mdn-of-wa 
offers  few  distractions  to  the  growing  charms  c 
companionship. 

"I  well  remember,"  writes  M.  Loti,  "the  da 
when  our  relations  became  really  affectionate.  1 
was  a  melancholy  afternoon  in  September.  Th 
first  winds  of  Autumn  roughened  the  sullen  sea; 


220  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

We  were  sailing  eastward,  and  the  ship  groaned 
and  creaked  as  she  slid  into  the  hollow  of  the  waves. 
I  sat  writing  in  the  semi-obscurity  of  my  cabin, 
which  grew  darker  and  darker  as  the  green  waters 
rose  and  broke  into  foam  over  my  closed  port-hole. 
Suddenly  I  saw  a  little  shadow  steal  from  under 
my  berth,  very  slowly,  and  as  though  with  infinite 
hesitation.  There  was  something  truly  Oriental  in 
its  fashion  of  holding  one  paw  suspended  in  air,  as 
if  uncertain  where  to  place  it  for  the  next  step. 
And  always  it  regarded  me  with  a  look  of  fixed  and 
plaintive  interrogation. 

" '  What  can  the  cat  want  ? '  I  said  to  myself. 
'  She  has  had  her  dinner.  She  is  not  hungry. 
What  is  it  she  is  after  ? ' 

"  In  answer  to  my  unspoken  question,  la  Chinoise 
crept  nearer  and  nearer  until  she  could  touch  my 
foot.  Then,  sitting  upright,  with  her  tail  curled 
close  about  her,  she  uttered  a  gentle  little  cry,  gaz 
ing  meanwhile  straight  into  my  eyes  which  seemed 
to  hold  some  message  she  could  read.  She  under 
stood  that  I  was  a  thinking  creature,  capable  of  pity, 
and  accessible  to  such  mute  and  piteous  prayer ; 
and  that  my  eyes  were  the  mirrors  in  which  her 
anxious  little  soul  must  study  my  good  or  bad  in 
tentions.  It  is  terrifying  to  think  how  near  an  ani 
mal  comes  to  us,  when  it  is  capable  of  such  inter 
course  as  this. 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  221 

"  For  the  first  time  I  looked  attentively  at  the 
little  visitor  who  for  two  weeks  had  shared  my  lodg 
ings.  She  was  tawny  as  a  wild  hare,  and  spotted 
like  a  leopard.  Only  her  face  and  neck  were  white. 
Certainly  an  ugly  and  attenuated  cat,  yet  perhaps 
her  very  ugliness  had  in  it  a  piquancy  which  ap 
pealed  to  the  discriminating  mind.  F^or  one  thing, 
she  was  so  unlike  the  beautiful  cats  of  France." 
(Alas  !  poor  Moumoutte  Blanche  !)  "  Stealthy  and 
sinuous,  with  great  ears  standing  erect,  and  a  pre 
posterously  long  tail,  she  had  nothing  attractive 
save  her  eyes,  — the  deep,  golden  orange  eyes  of 
the  Orient,  unquiet,  and  wonderfully  expressive. 

"While  I  watched  her,  I  carelessly  laid  my  hand 
on  her  head,  and  stroked  for  the  first  time  the  yellow 
fur.  It  was  not  mere  physical  pleasure  that  she 
felt  in  the  caress  ;  but  a  consciousness  of  protec 
tion,  of  sympathy  in  her  abandonment.  It  was  for 
this  she  had  crept  from  her  hiding-place;  it  was  for 
this,  and  not  for  food  or  drink,  that  she  had  come 
to  beg,  after  so  much  wistful  hesitation.  Her  little 
cat  soul  implored  some  company,  some  friendship 
in  a  lonely  world. 

"  Where  had  she  learned  this  need,  poor  outcast 
Pussy,  never  before  touched  by  a  kindly  hand  ; 
never  the  object  of  affection,  unless,  indeed,  the 
paternal  junk  held  some  forlorn  Chinese  child,  as 
joyless,  as  famished,  as  friendless  as  herself;  —  a 


222  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

child  who,  perishing  of  neglect,  would  leave  in  that 
miserable  abode  no  more  trace  of  its  feeble  existence 
than  she  had  done. 

"  At  last  one  small  paw  was  lifted,  Oh !  so  deli 
cately,  so  discreetly  ;  and,  after  a  long  anxious  look, 
Moumoutte,  believing  the  time  had  now  come  for 
venturing  all  things,  took  heart  of  grace,  and  leaped 
upon  my  knee. 

"  There  she  curled  herself,  but  with  subdued  tact 
and  reserve,  seeming  to  make  her  little  limbs  as 
light  as  possible,  a  mere  feather-weight,  —  and  never 
taking  her  eyes  from  my  face.  She  stayed  a  long 
while,  inconveniencing  me  greatly  ;  but  I  lacked 
the  courage  to  put  her  down,  as  I  might  have  done 
unhesitatingly,  had  she  been  pretty  and  plump  and 
gay.  Nervously  aware  of  my  least  movement,  she 
watched  me  with  intentness  ;  not  as  though  fearing 
I  would  do  her  harm,  —  she  was  far  too  intelligent 
to  believe  me  capable  of  such  a  thing,  —  but  as 
though  to  ask,  '  Is  it  possible  that  I  do  not  weary 
or  offend  you  ? '  After  a  time  her  expression  soft 
ened  from  anxiety  to  cajolery,  and  her  eyes,  lifted 
to  mine,  said  with  charming  distinctness  :  '  On  this 
Autumn  evening,  so  dreary  to  the  soul  of  a  cat,  since 
we  two  are  isolated,  and  lost  in  the  midst  of  dangers 
I  do  not  understand,  let  us  bestow  upon  each  other 
a  little  of  that  mysterious  something  which  sweetens 
misery  and  softens  death,  which  is  called  affection, 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  223 

and  which  expresses  itself  from  time  to  time  by  a 
caress.'  ' 

When  M.  Loti  returned  to  France,  he  was  met 
by  Moumoutte  Blanche,  and  was  accompanied  by 
Moumoutte  Chinoise.  It  was  an  embarrassing  situ 
ation,  not  unlike  that  of  the  Crusader  who  brought 
home  a  Saracen  wife,  and  presented  her  to  his 
Christian  spouse.  The  poor  little  intruder  was 
lifted  from  her  basket  amid  outcries  at  her  ugliness  ; 
and,  with  an  anxious  heart,  her  master  awaited  the 
result  of  the  first  crucial  interview.  It  was  unlike 
anything  he  had  anticipated,  and  reflected  credit  on 
both  rivals.  The  two  cats  flew  to  arms,  and  had  a 
battle  royal  for  supremacy.  The  kitchen  was  the 
scene  of  combat,  desperate  valour  was  shown  by  the 
combatants,  and  only  a  liberal  and  impartial  applica 
tion  of  cold  water  chilled  their  martial  ardour,  and 
put  an  end  to  hostilities.  Once  separated,  they 
never  fought  again.  Moumoutte  Chinoise,  wary 
and  alert,  Moumoutte  Blanche,  pensive  and  sombre, 
met  each  other  in  the  daily  intercourse  of  life,  dis 
dainfully  at  first,  then  with  growing  cordiality,  and 
finally  with  an  ardent  friendship,  beautiful  to  be 
hold.  Jealousy  was  banished  from  their  little  hearts. 
Intimate  and  inseparable,  they  dined  and  dozed  and 
played  together,  even  making  their  toilets  in  com 
mon,  and  licking  and  smoothing  each  other's  fur 
with  mutual  tenderness  and  pride. 


224  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Summer  came,  and  la  Chinoise,  born  and  bred 
upon  the  melancholy  waters,  revelled  for  the  first 
time  in  the  joyous  garden  life  which  all  cats  dearly 
love  ;  —  that  life,  partly  of  hermit-like  meditation 
and  repose,  partly  of  venery  and  cruel  sport.  The 
odour  of  rose  and  jasmin ;  the  tall  trees,  on  whose 
branches  unsuspicious  birds  nested  and  sang ;  the 
miniature  rocks  circling  the  fountain,  amid  which 
she  lay  concealed  like  a  Liliputian  tiger  in  its  lair  ; 
all  these  wonders  enraptured  her  sensitive  soul. 
She  became  sleek  and  gay,  her  brilliant  eyes  lost 
their  shadow  of  fear,  her  timidity  vanished,  her 
delicate  limbs  grew  round  and  strong.  Even  her 
unconquerable  ugliness  lent  a  distinction  of  its  own 
to  her  intelligence  and  grace.  Moumoutte  Blanche, 
once  the  proud  and  intolerant  queen  of  this  lovely 
place,  now  shared  its  delights  generously  with  the 
stranger,  with  the  little  Mongolian  who  had  come 
from  the  Yellow  Sea  to  claim  half  of  her  master's 
home,  and  two  thirds  of  his  affection.  I  know  of 
no  nobler  cat  in  Christendom  than  Moumoutte 
Blanche. 

When  summer  waned,  and  the  days  grew  short 
and  chill,  la  Chinoise  abandoned  the  garden  walks 
for  the  greater  luxury  of  the  warm  fireside.  "  It  is 
with  the  approach  of  winter,"  says  M.  Loti,  "  that 
cats  become  in  an  especial  manner  our  friends  and 
guests.  They  sit  in  our  chimney-corners,  watch 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE  225 

with  us  the  dancing  flames,  and  dream  with  us 
vague  dreams,  misty  and  melancholy  as  the  deepen 
ing  dusk.  It  is  then,  too,  that  they  wear  their  rich 
est  fur,  and  assume  an  air  of  sumptuous  and  delight 
ful  opulence.  With  the  first  frost,  Moumoutte 
Chinoise  patched  up  her  meagre  coat,  which  no 
longer  showed  its  old  distressing  rents ;  and  Mou 
moutte  Blanche  adorned  herself  with  an  imposing 
cravat,  a  snow-white  boa,  which  encircled  her  pretty 
face  like  a  vast  Medicean  ruff.  Their  affection  for 
each  other  was  increased  by  their  mutual  love  of 
warmth  and  repose.  On  the  hearth,  on  their  cush 
ions,  in  the  armchairs  they  slept  for  whole  days, 
snugly  rolled  into  one  great  round  ball  of  white  and 
yellow  fur. 

"It  was  Moumoutte  Chinoise  who,  in  an  especial 
manner,  courted  this  comfortable  companionship. 
When,  after  a  short  and  chilly  stroll  in  the  garden, 
she  found  her  friend  sleeping  before  the  fire,  she 
would  steal  up  to  her  very,  very  softly,  and  with  as 
much  caution  as  if  she  were  surprising  a  mouse. 
Blanche,  always  nervous,  pettish,  and  averse  to 
being  disturbed,  would  sometimes  resent  intrusion, 
and  give  her  a  gentle  slap  by  way  of  remonstrance. 
It  was  never  returned.  La  Chinoise  would  merely 
lift  her  little  paw  with  a  mocking  gesture,  looking 
at  me  meanwhile  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  as 
though  to  say,  '  She  has  a  difficult  temper,  has  n't 


226  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

she  ?  But  you  know  I  never  take  her  seriously. ' 
Then,  with  renewed  precaution,  she  would  return 
resolutely  to  her  purpose,  which  was  always  to  nes 
tle  up  against  her  slumbering  friend,  and  bury  her 
head  in  that  warm,  soft,  snowy  fur.  This  accom 
plished,  she  would  compose  herself  to  sleep,  with  a 
final  glance  of  triumph  in  my  direction,  which  said 
drowsily,  but  distinctly,  'This  is  what  I  was  after, 
and  here  I  am.'  " 

Assuredly  there  was  never  a  sweeter  cat  in  Chris 
tendom  than  the  beautiful  Moumoutte  Blanche. 

Readers  who  seek  to  preserve  as  far  as  possible 
the  gayety  of  life  may  be  pardoned  for  wishing  that 
M.  Loti  had  spared  them  some  of  the  pathetic  de 
tails  in  which  his  soul  delights.  The  few  short 
years  allotted  to  a  cat  are  spent  so  swiftly  that  we 
who  linger  on  our  way  are  perpetually  mourning 
some  little  vanished  friend,  — 

"  doubly  dead, 
In  that  she  died  so  young." 

It  would  be  kinder  not  to  awaken  our  buried  grief, 
nor  probe  our  wounds  afresh ;  but  he  who  wrote 
"  Le  Livre  de  la  Pitie  et  de  la  Mort,"  has  no  com 
passion  for  our  selfishness.  Every  step  the  two 
cats  took  to  their  graves  is  described  with  minute 
and  haunting  melancholy.  The  black  dejection 
that  seized  poor  Moumoutte  Chinoise  as  her  end 
drew  near ;  her  last  sad  impulse  to  die  away  from 


SOME  CATS  OF  FRANCE 


227 


pitying  eyes  and  helping  hands  ;  the  prolonged 
agony  of  Moumoutte  Blanche  who  fought  piteously 
for  her  fast  ebbing  life ;  —  these  things  we  have 
read  in  mournful  moments,  wishing  them  all  the 
time  untold,  just  as  we  wish  their  author  would  not 
suddenly  intrude  some  unseemly  jest  upon  us  when 
we  are  least  attuned  to  its  reception. 

Yet  never  has  a  cat  of  character  been  drawn 
with  the  careful  and  sympathetic  art  bestowed  upon 
Moumoutte  Chinoise.  She  is  the  Jane  Eyre  of 
pussies  ;  ugly,  intelligent,  sensitive,  passionate,  self- 
controlled,  intrepid,  and  vivacious.  M.  Loti  can 
hardly  be  said  to  resemble  Rochester  ;  but,  like 
that  beatified  barbarian,  he  had  the  quality  of  dis 
cernment,  which  enabled  him  to  see  the  spirit  and 
charm  hidden  beneath  so  mean  and  shabby  an  ex 
terior. 

"  Kile  a,  dans  sa  laideur  piquante, 
Un  grain  de  sel  de  cette  mer, 
D'oii  jaillit,  nue  et  provocante. 
L'acre  Venus  du  gouffre  amer." 


its* 


CHAPTER    IX 
THE   CAT   TO-DAY 

"  Sphinx  of  my  quiet  hearth  !  who  deignst  to  dwell 
Friend  of  my  toil,  companion  of  mine  ease." 

PERHAPS  some  portion  of  the  tenderness 
which  falls  to  Pussy's  happy  lot  in  these 
smooth  days,  when  her  star  —  eclipsed  since 
the  fall  of  Pasht  — has  once  more  reached  its  zenith, 
is  due  to  the  nursery  rhymes  which  present  her  so 
constantly  to  infant  eyes  and  ears.  "  The  cat,"  says 
M.  Champfleury,  "  is  the  nurse's  favourite,  and  the 
baby's  earliest  friend.  It  plays  its  part  in  little 
rhythmical  dramas,  cunningly  presented  to  the 
drowsy  child,  who  falls  asleep  with  a  familiar  image 
parading  fantastically  through  his  brain."  French 
rhymes  are  much  the  prettiest  ;  less  bald  than  the 
English,  less  banal  than  the  German.  There  is  a 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  229 

gayety  in  their  dancing  measures,  and  the  simplest 
narratives  have  a  touch  of  picturesqueness,  never 
lost  on  infancy.  Even  an  A,  B,  C  verse,  which 
we  try  to  make  as  imbecile  as  words  will  allow,  can 
assume  a  pleasing  form  in  the  nurseries  of  France. 
What,  for  example,  could  be  more  hopelessly  unin 
teresting  or  irrelevant  than  the  English 

"  Great  A,  little  a,  Bouncing  B, 
Cat 's  in  the  cupboard,  and  can't  see  me." 

Such  a  vapid  statement  insults  the  intelligence  of 
a  baby.  The  Germans  do  better.  They  have  sev 
eral  rhymes,  the  shortest  and  simplest  of  which 
was  the  first  word  picture  ever  grasped  by  my  own 
dawning  intelligence. 

"  A,  B,  C, 

Die  Katze  liegt  im  Schnee, 
Der  Schnee  ging  hinweg, 
Die  Katze  liegt  im  Dreck." 

Prettier  than  this  is  the  version  sung  in  Saxony 
and  Austria. 

"  A,  B,  C, 

Die  Katze  liegt  im  Schnee ; 
Als  sie  wieder  'raus  kam, 
Hatt'  sie  weisse  Stiefeln  an ; 
Weisse  Stiefeln  muss  sie  haben, 
Dass  sie  kann  nach  Dresden  traben." 

Little  Parisians,  as  well  as  little  Teutons,  delight 
in  Pussy's  snowy  socks. 


230  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

"  A,  B,  C, 
Le  chat  est  alle 
Dans  la  neige  ;  en  retournant, 
II  avait  les  souliers  tous  blancs." 

All  white  like  Baby's  knitted  shoes,  held  up  for 
illustration.  The  children  see  Pussy  picking  her 
dainty  way  through  the  soft  snow  with  little  shivers 
of  cold,  and  little  shakings  of  her  paw  at  the  chilli 
ness  of  her  new  foot-gear,  just  as  they  see  her  mak 
ing  her  careful  toilet  in  this  bit  of  rhyme  equally 
familiar  to  their  nurseries. 

"  Le  chat  a  Jeannette 
Est  une  jolie  bete. 
Quand  il  veut  se  faire  beau, 
II  se  leche  le  museau ; 
Avec  sa  salive 
II  fait  la  lessive." 

I  wonder  why  the  French  cat  is  always  "he," 
and  the  English  cat  is  almost  always  "she,"  even 
when  confessedly  a  Tom.  I  have  heard  of  college 
cats,  grave  Fellows  of  Baliol  and  Magdalen,  who 
deeply  resented  being  called  "  she  "  by  feminine 
visitors,  unaware  apparently  of  the  laws  which  gov 
ern  such  institutions.  But  in  the  French  nurseries, 
no  insult  is  ever  offered  to  masculinity. 

"  II  etait  une  bergere, 
Et  ron,  ton,  ron,  petit  patapon, 
II  etait  une  bergere 
Qui  gardait  ses  moutons, 

Ron,  ron, 
Qui  gardait  ses  moutons. 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  231 

"  Elle  fit  un  fromage, 
Et  ron,  ron,  ron,  petit  patapon, 
Elle  fit  un  fromage 
Du  lait  de  ses  moutons, 

Ron,  ron, 
Du  lait  de  ses  moutons. 

"  Le  chat  qui  la  regarde, 
Et  ron,  ron,  ron,  petit  patapon, 
Le  chat  qui  la  regarde 
D'un  petit  air  fripon, 

Ron,  ron, 
D'un  petit  air  fripon. 

"  '  Si  tu  y  mets  la  patte, 
Et  ron,  ron,  ron,  petit  patapon, 
Si  tu  y  mets  la  patte, 
Tu  auras  du  baton, 

Ron,  ron, 
Tu  auras  du  baton.' 

"  II  n'y  mit  pas  la  patte, 
Et  ron,  ron,  ron,  petit  patapon, 
II  n'y  mit  pas  la  patte, 
II  y  mit  le  menton, 

Ron,  ron, 
II  y  mit  le  menton." 

Pussy  is  scampish,  and  Pussy  is  pitiless  in  too 
many  of  the  verses  meant  for  infant  ears  ;  and  it  is 
a  proof  of  our  innate  depravity  that  youthful  listen 
ers  love  her  none  the  less. 

"  Le  chat  sauta  sur  les  souris, 

II  les  croqua  toute  la  nuit. 

Gentil  coquiqui, 


232  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Coco  des  moustaches,  mirlo,  joli, 
Gentil  coquiqui." 

Children  might  dance  over  the  bridge  of  Avignon 
to  the  lilt  of  this  cruel  little  song. 

The  most  popular  English  and  Scottish  rhymes 
are  less  gay,  but  not  more  merciful.  If  the  perse 
cuted  mice  save  their  necks,  it  is  only  because  they 
sit  starving  at  home. 

"  There  was  a  wee  bit  mousikie, 
That  lived  in  Gilberaty,  O  ; 
It  couldna  get  a  bite  o'  cheese, 
For  cheety-poussie-catty,  O. 

"  It  said  unto  the  cheesikie  : 

'  Oh,  fain  wad  I  be  at  ye,  O, 
If  it  were  na  for  the  cruel  paws 
O'  cheety-poussie-catty,  O.'  " 

There  are  only  three  verses  hallowed  by  Mother 
Goose's  sanction,  in  which  the  cat  does  not  appear 
as  Nimrod,  and  which,  in  their  way,  are  as  pretty 
as  the  French  favourites. 

"  Pussy  sat  beside  the  fire, 

Pussy  was  so  fair ; 
In  came  a  little  dog, 

'  Pussy,  are  you  there  ? '  " 

"  Pussy  cat,  mew  !  jumps  over  a  coal ; 
And  in  her  best  petticoat  burns  a  great  hole ! 
Pussy  cat,  mew  !  shall  have  no  more  milk 
Until  her  best  petticoat 's  mended  with  silk." 

And,  best  and  oldest  of  the  three ; 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  233 

" '  Pussy-cat,  Pussy-cat, 

Where  have  you  been  ? ' 
'  I  've  been  to  London, 

To  look  at  the  Queen.' 
'  Pussy-cat,  Pussy-cat, 

What  did  you  do  there  ?' 
'  I  frightened  a  little  mouse 

Under  her  chair.' " 

It  was  good  Queen  Anne  whom  this  adventurous 
kitten  had  journeyed  to  see,  and  the  history  of  her 
exploit  has  been  told  to  children  ever  since.  These 
verses  prepare  the  way  for  the  fairy  tales  to  follow  : 
- "  Puss-in-Boots,"  "  The  White  Cat,"  and  the 
legend  of  Dick  Whittington.  Perhaps  in  some 
favoured  nurseries  —  as,  long  ago,  in  mine  —  the 
charming  French  story  of  "  Mere  Michel  et  son 
Chat  "  has  a  place  of  honour  on  the  bookshelves  ; 
and  little  readers  follow  with  breathless  suspense 
the  wonderful  escapes  of  Moumouth,  whose  crown 
ing  victory  over  the  wicked  Lustucru  was  one  of 
the  joys  of  my  childhood;  a  joy  as  fresh  at  the 
twentieth  reading  as  at  the  first,  —  more  satisfac 
tory,  perhaps,  because  then  I  knew  it  all  along,  and 
so  could  better  bear  the  trials  and  dangers  that  pre 
ceded  it.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  would  never  have 
envied  "  the  happiness  of  inferior  creatures,  who  in 
tranquillity  enjoy  their  constitutions,"  had  he  known 
Mother  Michel's  cat.  Mr.  Aldrich  translated  this 
story  some  years  ago,  so  that  it  is  now  as  accessible 


234  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

to  American  as  to  French  children  ;  and  all  may 
read  how  Moumouth  lived,  suffered,  triumphed, 
died,  and  was  honoured  in  his  grave ;  while  the 
cruel  steward  who  persecuted  him  was  appropri 
ately  cooked  and  eaten  by  avenging  cannibals, 
sighing  out  with  his  last  breath  the  name  of  the 
innocent  animal  he  had  so  barbarously  sought  to 
destroy. 

M.  Bedolliere,  author  of  this  delightful  and  har 
rowing  tale,  borrowed  Mere  Michel  and  Lustucru 
from  an  old  song,  familiar  to  many  generations  of 
Gallic  infancy. 

"  C'est  la  Mere  Michel  qui  a  perdu  son  chat, 
Qui  cri'  par  la  fenetre  a  qui  le  lui  rendra ; 
Et  le  Compere  Lustucru  qui  lui  a  repondu  : 
'  Allez,  Mere  Michel,  votre  chat  n'est  pas  perdu.' 

"  C'est  la  Mere  Michel  qui  lui  a  demande  : 
'  Mon  chat  n'est  pas  perdu  !  vous  1'avez  done  trouve  ? ' 
Et  le  Compere  Lustucru  qui  lui  a  repondu : 
'  Donnez  une  recompense,  il  vous  sera  rendu.' 

"  Et  la  Mere  Michel  lui  dit :  '  C'est  decide, 
Si  vous  rendez  mon  chat,  vous  aurez  un  baiser.' 
Le  Compere  Lustucru  qui  n'en  a  pas  voulu, 
Lui  dit :  '  Pour  un  lapin  votre  chat  est  vendu.'  " 

With  schooldays  come  La  Fontaine's  Fables,  — 
unless  indeed  a  surfeit  of  mathematics  has  by  this 
time  driven  even  La  Fontaine  from  the  field,  —  and 
youthful  students  learn,  or  should  learn,  of  Rodilard 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  235 

and  the  saintly  cJiatcmite.  When  they  have  studied 
Gray's  verses,  "  On  the  Death  of  a  Favourite  Cat, 
Drowned  in  a  Tub  of  Gold  Fishes,"  their  education 
may  be  held  complete,  and  their  tastes  carefully 
cultivated  in  the  right  direction.  No  child  brought 
up  along  these  lines  will  be  indifferent  to  feline 
character  or  charm.  One  source  of  pleasure,  well 
worth  the  cultivation,  has  been  secured  for  life. 

Yet  how  much  more  there  is  to  read  and  learn  ! 
Where  shall  we  look  without  encountering  an  ani 
mal  that  has  inspired  poets  and  painters,  that  has 
been  the  companion  of  scholars,  the  delight  of 
authors,  the  solace  of  statesmen,  the  friend  of  pre 
lates,  the  beloved  of  saints  !  What  an  admirable 
story  is  that  which  the  holy  deacon,  John,  deemed 
worthy  to  be  told  in  his  "  Life  of  Saint  Gregory," 
and  which  has  at  once  the  exquisite  grace  of  asceti 
cism  and  the  warmth  and  colour  of  humanity.  There 
lived,  he  says,  during  the  pontificate  of  Gregory, 
a  poor  hermit,  pious,  vigilant,  and  austere.  To  him 
it  was  revealed  in  a  vision  that  he  would  share  in 
Heaven  the  glory  of  the  Pope,  at  which  he  mar 
velled  much  ,•  partly  because  of  his  unworthiness, 
and  partly  because  —  owning  nothing  in  the  world 
but  a  female  cat  —  he  had  hoped,  in  moments  of 
spiritual  exaltation,  that  some  especial  reward  would 
be  meted  out  to  his  rigorous  self-denial.  Then  a 
second  vision  was  vouchsafed  ;  he  looked  into  the 


236  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

heart  of  the  great  Pontiff,  and  saw  that  it  was  de 
tached  from  all  the  splendours  of  his  throne  ;  and 
he  knew  that,  fancying  himself  so  poor  in  spirit, 
he  yet  loved  and  valued  his  cat  more  than  Gregory 
loved  and  valued  all  his  earthly  possessions.  The 
Pope  was  the  truer  ascetic  of  the  two. 

We  need  not  wander  so  far  afield  to  learn 
of  Pussy's  sweet  seductiveness.  Instances  of  her 
supremacy  may  be  found  much  nearer  home.  Did 
not  Washington's  father  rival  the  forbearance  of 
Mohammed  by  sitting  habitually  and  uneasily  on  the 
extreme  edge  of  his  chair,  rather  than  disturb  his 
cat  who  loved  to  lie  curled  up  on  the  cushion  back 
of  him  ?  Such  a  man  deserved  to  have  George  for 
a  son.  It  is  a  common  habit  of  cats,  when  their 
rule  is  unquestioned,  to  behave  in  this  way,  espe 
cially  in  winter  time,  —  draughts  being  abhorrent 
to  their  souls.  I  knew  a  large  black  Baltimore  puss 
who  used  to  drive  both  household  and  visitors  like 
sheep  from  chair  to  chair,  by  jumping  up  behind 
each  unfortunate  in  turn,  and  curling  his  huge  bulk 
in  that  narrow  space.  To  make  room  for  him  was 
impossible,  to  put  him  down  was  out  of  the  ques 
tion  ;  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  move  on,  —  like 
the  poor  Indian,  —  in  the  hope  that  after  a  while 
one  might  reach  some  place  sufficiently  undesirable 
for  permanent  possession. 

Colonial  records  contain  many  pleasant  allusions 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  237 

to  cats.  In  Watson's  Annals  we  read  of  Elizabeth 
Hurd  and  her  husband  who  came  to  Philadelphia 
with  Penn's  early  colonists.  They  worked  hard 
side  by  side  to  build  their  first  rude  home,  living 
meantime,  like  so  many  of  the  poorer  emigrants,  in 
a  cave  by  the  river's  bank.  One  day  while  Eliza 
beth  was  carrying  water,  and  mixing  the  mortar  for 
their  chimney,  her  husband  said  to  her  with  some 
asperity :  "  Thou  hadst  better  think  of  dinner  !  " 
—  an  essentially  masculine  remark,  when  there  was 
nothing  but  a  little  bread  and  cheese  in  the  larder. 
Elizabeth  walked  soberly  back  to  the  cave,  think 
ing  very  hard,  but  quite  unable  to  translate  her 
thoughts  into  provisions.  On  the  way  she  met  her 
cat,  holding  in  his  mouth  a  fine  large  rabbit,  "  which 
she  thankfully  received,  and  dressed  as  an  English 
hare.  When  her  husband  came  in  to  dinner"  — 
plainly  expecting  to  be  well  fed,  —  "he  was  in 
formed  of  the  facts,  whereupon  they  both  wept 
with  reverential  joy,  and  ate  their  meal,  which  was 
thus  seasonably  provided  for  them,  in  singleness 
of  heart." 

The  help  afforded  in  this  emergency  was  never 
ungratefully  forgotten  ;  for  when  Elizabeth  Hurd 
died,  after  many  years  of  prosperity,  she  bequeathed 
to  her  grand-niece,  Mrs.  Deborah  Morris,  a  silver 
tureen,  on  which  was  engraved  a  cat  bearing  a  rabbit 
in  its  mouth. 


238  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

The  interesting  diary  of  Elizabeth  Drinker  tells 
us  of  the  strange  mortality  that  prevailed  among 
the  Philadelphia  cats  in  the  summer  of  1797,  and 
which  seems  to  have  somewhat  resembled  the  epi 
demic  of  1809  in  Berne.  Cherished  pussies  were 
found  dead  on  doorsteps,  in  the  streets,  by  the 
kitchen  fires,  —  and  none  knew  whereof  they  died. 
There  was  mourning  and  lamentation  in  many  a 
home ;  and  the  "  Cat's  Coronach  "  might  have 
been  chanted  at  night  in  the  deserted  yards,  and 
on  lonely  walls,  no  longer  guarded  by  resolute  and 
valiant  Toms. 

"  And  art  thou  fallen,  and  lowly  laid, 
The  housewife's  boast,  the  cellar's  aid, 

Great  mouser  of  thy  day ! 
Whose  rolling  eyes  and  aspect  dread 
Whole  whiskered  legions  oft  have  fled 

In  midnight  battle  fray. 
There  breathes  no  kitten  of  thy  line 
But  would  have  given  his  life  for  thine." 

It  is  not  only  of  cats  in  general  that  Elizabeth 
Drinker  deigns  to  write.  She  has  much  to  say 
from  time  to  time  of  her  own  puss,  who,  at  a  ripe 
old  age,  fell  a  victim  to  the  prevailing  disorder,  and 
for  whom  she  seems  to  have  entertained  a  precise 
and  Quaker-like  esteem  ;  —  "as  good  a  regard  as 
was  necessary,"  is  her  rather  chilly  way  of  record 
ing  her  affection.  Neither  does  she  deem  it  be 
neath  the  dignity  of  a  diarist  to  note  the  arrival  of  a 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  239 

little  waif  who  sought  shelter  by  her  comfortable 
hearth. 

"  A  very  pretty  cat  intruded  herself  on  us  this 
evening.  We  did  not  make  her  welcome  at  first, 
but  she  seemed  to  insist  on  staying.  Sally  then 
gave  her  milk,  and  very  soon  after  she  caught  a 
poor  little  mouse  ;  and  she  is  now  lying  on  the  cor 
ner  of  my  apron  by  ye  fireside,  as  familiarly  as  if 
she  had  lived  with  us  for  seven  years." 

It  is  pleasant  to  hear  the  kind-hearted  Quakeress 
say  "  poor  little  mouse;"  for  the  unconcern  with 
which  most  of  us  view  the  death  agony  of  a  mouse 
contrasts  strangely  with  our  sentimental  outpour 
ings  over  a  murdered  bird.  The  mouse  might  say 
with  Shylock,  "  If  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ?  " 
—  and  feel  with  Shylock  that  no  one  heeds  the 
shedding  of  such  blood.  But,  for  the  slaughter 
of  a  bird,  there  is  a  different  cry.  Does  not  even 
that  sweet  saint,  Eugenie  de  Guerin,  bewail  in  no 
gentle  words  —  in  the  most  ungentle  words  her 
journal  holds  —  such  a  calamity  ? 

"  I  am  furious  with  the  grey  cat.  The  wicked 
creature  has  just  robbed  me  of  a  young  pigeon  that 
I  was  warming  by  the  fire.  The  poor  little  thing 
was  beginning  to  revive  ;  I  had  meant  to  tame  it ; 
it  would  have  grown  fond  of  me  ;  and  now  all  this 
ends  in  its  getting  crunched  up  by  a  cat.  What 
disappointments  there  are  in  life !  " 


24o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Only  the  cat's  impartial  mind  draws  no  distinc 
tion  between  mouse  and  bird. 

"  They  call  me  cruel.     Do  I  know  if  mouse  or  song-bird  feels  ? 
I  only  know  they  make  me  light  and  salutary  meals." 

"An  ordinary  cat,"  says  Mr.  Robinson  unkindly, 
"  will  devote  a  whole  day  to  the  circumvention  of 
the  lodger's  canary,  rather  than  spend  an  hour 
upon  the  landlady's  rats.  A  single  bullfinch  in  the 
drawing-room  is  worth  a  wilderness  of  mice  in  the 
pantry." 

This  I  believe  to  be  calumnious  ;  but,  as  St. 
George  Mivart  remarks  with  a  sapiency  too  obvious 
to  be  instructive  :  "  We  cannot,  without  becoming 
cats,  perfectly  understand  the  cat  mind."  When  an 
animal  withholds  its  confidence,  we  have  no  power 
to  break  the  barriers  of  its  reserve  ;  and  who  shall 
boast  that  he  enjoys  —  save  in  rare  and  fugitive 
moments — the  confidence  or  intimacy  of  a  cat? 
Men  have  made  this  boast,  I  am  aware,  and  they 
have  themselves  believed  the  truth  of  their  asser 
tion  ;  yet  even  Gautier  and  Loti  wove  into  their 
daily  intercourse  with  their  cats  the  brilliant  web 
of  their  own  imaginings.  Gifted  beyond  most  mor 
tals  with  that  delicate  and  subtle  sympathy  which 
enabled  them  to  establish  a  basis  of  companionship, 
they  unconsciously  assumed  a  more  complete  under 
standing  than  could  ever  have  existed.  For  whereas 
the  dog  strives  to  lessen  the  distance  between  him- 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  241 

self  and  man,  seeks  ever  to  be  intelligent  and  intelli 
gible,  and  translates  into  looks  and  actions  the  words 
he  cannot  speak,  the  cat  dwells  within  the  circle 
of  her  own  secret  thoughts.  She  scorns  la  vie  de 
parade,  and  makes  no  effort  to  reveal  herself  to 
us,  save  when  we  minister  to  her  needs,  or  when, 
in  some  sweet  impulse  of  cajolery,  she  gives  us 
transient  tokens  of  regard.  Gautier  and  Loti  en 
joyed  many  such  moments,  because  they  were  so 
sensitively  attuned  to  their  felicity ;  but  that  they 
held  Madame  Theophile  or  Moumoutte  Chinoise 
in  the  bonds  of  indissoluble  friendship,  I  cannot 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  believe.  They  would  never 
have  prized  so  highly  an  affection  of  which  they 
entertained  no  doubt. 

As  for  those  foolish  moderns  who  write  papers 
for  magazines  to  prove  that  the  cat  is  a  sorely  slan 
dered  animal,  and  who  represent  their  own  pets  as 
entertaining  for  them  a  profound  and  respectful 
passion,  they  cherish  their  illusions  cheaply.  "  I 
observe  authors,"  says  Mr.  Lang,  "  who  speak  con 
cerning  cats  with  a  familiarity  and  a  levity  most 
distasteful."  Like  the  people  who  write  gos"sipy 
books  about  emperors  and  empresses,  they  assume 
an  air  of  easy  intimacy,  "  a  great  and  disrespectful 
license,"  which  they  deem  elevates  them  to  equality. 
They  also  attribute  to  their  cats  a  host  of  intolerable 
virtues  which  would  put  to  shame  the  little  girls 


242  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

who  shine  in  Sunday-school  fiction.  Thus  a  lady 
living  near  Belfast  writes  that,  when  she  was  ill,  her 
devoted  cat  went  poaching  for  her  every  day,  brav 
ing  the  terrors  of  the  law  that  he  might  provide 
her  with  the  partridges  her  delicate  constitution 
demanded,  but  which  her  purse  was  unequal  to  buy 
ing.  He  never  touched  the  stolen  birds  himself, 
having  more  conscience  in  the  matter  than  his  mis 
tress  ;  and,  when  she  had  recovered  and  desired 
no  more,  he  ceased  his  benevolent  depredations. 
Elizabeth  Kurd's  rabbit-hunting  beast,  to  whom 
she  felt  such  life-long  gratitude,  sinks  into  insignifi 
cance  alongside  of  this  Irish  Puss-in-Boots. 

As  for  the  astounding  instances  of  feline  gener 
osity  which  we  are  daily  requested  to  consider,  they 
would  lead  us  to  suppose  that  cats  live  only  to  do 
good.  Gautier's  little  Bohemian,  who  shared  his 
dinner  occasionally  with  disreputable  friends  out  of 
pure  love  for  low  company,  shines  but  dimly  by 
comparison  with  the  small  Saint  Elizabeths,  who 
apparently  have  no  use  for  their  dinners  save  to 
give  them  to  all  the  poor  and  starving  cats  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

M.  Jumelin,  for  example,  tells  us  of  his  own 
Angora  who  every  day  fed  out  of  her  allowance  a 
hungry  companion  ;  and  Mr.  Larrabee  is  responsi 
ble  for  the  edifying  history  of  a  Norman  cat  whose 
conscience  was  troubled  by  the  overabundance  of 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  243 

her  supplies.  Accordingly  she  brought  home  one 
day  a  lean  cottage  animal  to  share  the  feast  ;  ob 
serving  which,  her  master  laid  out  for  her  a  double 
portion  the  following  morning.  Rejoiced  to  see 
her  opportunities  for  good  thus  unexpectedly  in 
creased,  the  philanthropic  cat  journeyed  further  into 
the  village,  and  summoned  a  second  impecunious 
pussy.  Her  master  added  a  third  plate  to  the  dinner 
table.  She  found  a  third  guest,  and  then  a  fourth 
and  fifth  ;  until,  as  the  meals  kept  increasing,  she 
often  had  twenty  pensioners  around  her  generous 
board,  all  of  whom,  we  are  assured,  recognized  their 
position,  and  behaved  with  respectful  propriety. 

Stories  of  virtuous  cats  who  cannot  be  tempted 
to  dishonesty ;  of  faithful  cats  who  watch  over  chil 
dren  confided  to  their  care  ;  of  affectionate  cats 
who  live  on  terms  of  sweet  serenity  with  birds,  and 
puppies,  and  guinea  pigs,  and  white  mice,  would 
seem  to  prove  —  could  we  but  credit  them  —  that, 
of  all  four-footed  prigs,  Pussy  is  the  most  funda 
mentally  priggish.  These  annals  reach  their  climax 
in  the  affecting  narrative  of  a  Norfolk  lady,  whose 
pious  Maltese  —  having  apparently  read  "  The  Fair- 
child  Family,"  and  "  Elsie  Dinsmore,"  -  not  only 
attended  family  prayers  with  circumspection,  but 
obliged  her  unfortunate  kittens  to  be  present,  cuff 
ing  them  fervently  if  they  betrayed  any  restless 
ness  under  the  ordeal. 


244  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

Less  difficult  to  believe,  yet  far  removed  from 
credence,  are  tales  of  Pussy's  superhuman  intelli 
gence  and  craft.  Some  years  ago  the  "  Specta 
tor  "  published,  with  enviable  gravity,  an  account  of 
a  cat  that  hunted  up  and  found  articles  lost  about 
the  house.  He  did  not  appear  to  have  concealed 
these  things,  and  then  produced  them  for  reward ; 
but  to  have  made  painful  search  for  scissors  and 
spectacles,  mislaid  through  the  carelessness  of  the 
family.  Enthusiasts  are  always  telling  us  how  their 
pets  open  closed  doors,  as  though  in  training  for 
burglary  ;  and  lay  traps,  like  veteran  hunters,  for 
birds  and  squirrels.  A  Scotch  gentleman  assures 
me  that  his  cat  was  in  the  habit  of  hiding  in  the 
shrubbery,  and  leaping  out  upon  the  poor  little 
sparrows  that  came  every  morning  to  breakfast  on 
the  crumbs  thrown  them  from  the  dining-room 
window.  One  winter  day  these  crumbs  were 
quickly  covered  over  by  falling  snow ;  whereupon 
the  astute  highwayman  was  seen  to  lay  them  bare 
again,  brushing  away  the  soft  snow  with  his  paws, 
lest,  from  lack  of  decoy,  he  should  lose  his  prey. 
Indignant  at  such  murderous  purpose,  the  family 
determined  to  circumvent  the  cat  by  scattering  no 
more  bread.  Pussy  waited  and  wondered  for  two 
mornings  ;  and  then,  realizing  the  nature  of  the 
conspiracy,  baffled  it  by  the  simple  process  of  taking 
a  roll  from  the  breakfast  table,  and  carrying  it  him- 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  245 

self  to  the  shrubbery  path.  It  only  remains  to  be 
told  that  he  first  baked  the  bread,  and  this  veracious 
chronicle  will  be  complete. 

Still  more  astounding  is  another  story  related  of 
a  New  England  cat  named  June,  who  hid  her  four 
kittens  in  a  hole  under  the  garret  floor.  After  the 
first  week  she  ceased  going  to  the  garret,  and  the 
family,  fearing  the  kittens  were  dead,  felt  some  not 
unnatural  annoyance  at  the  thought  of  the  trouble 
it  would  be  to  disinter  them.  The  matter  was  dis 
cussed  in  the  presence  of  June,  who  lay  on  the  sofa, 
apparently  asleep  ;  and  her  mistress  observed  with 
asperity,  —  "I  would  give  ten  dollars  this  minute 
if  those  kittens  were  out  from  under  the  floor." 
Immediately  the  cat  jumped  down  and  left  the 
room,  the  door  being  shut  after  her.  In  a  few  min 
utes  she  was  heard  mewing  in  the  hall ;  and,  when 
the  door  was  opened,  there  on  the  floor  lay  three 
of  the  dead  kittens.  Her  mistress  —  who  tells  the 
tale  in  the  "  Spectator  "  —  said,  "  Well  done,  June. 
Go  now  and  fetch  the  other  one  ;"  whereupon  she 
made  a  fourth  trip,  and  returned  with  the  last  little 
corpse,  laying  it  alongside  of  its  brothers.  It  is  to 
be  hoped  the  ten  dollars  were  promptly  paid ;  but 
one  fears  that  a  cat  of  such  cupidity  would  be  capa 
ble  of  killing  her  innocent  offspring  for  the  sake  of 
the  promised  reward. 

"  I    am    extremely   distrustful    of   interesting  or 


246  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

touching  stories  about  animals,"  observes  M.  Champ- 
fleury,  who  well  knew  on  what  slender  foundations 
such  pretty  tales  are  built.  Yet  now  and  then  even 
his  skepticism  was  shaken  by  curious  and  clearly 
proven  facts  which  seemed  to  indicate,  not  only  affec 
tion  and  intelligence,  but  conscience  and  the  power  of 
reasoning,  —  uncomfortable  attributes,  from  which 
the  lower  orders  of  creation  are  presumably  exempt. 
Mere  chance  must  be  held  responsible  for  many 
semi-miraculous  things  in  a  world  full  of  wonders, 
and  accident  rules  the  lives  of  beasts  as  well  as 
those  of  men.  A  country  cat  of  my  acquaintance 
was  much  disturbed  and  excited  by  the  introduction 
of  a  tame  chipmunk  into  the  household  where  for 
merly  she  had  reigned  supreme.  It  was  impressed 
upon  her  in  the  most  strenuous  manner  that  the 
intruder  should  not  be  molested,  and  for  a  few 
weeks  she  acquiesced  sullenly  in  its  unwelcome 
presence.  Nature,  however,  has  not  intended  that 
cats  and  chipmunks  should  dwell  in  amity  together. 
One  unlucky  afternoon  the  tiny  creature  darted 
tantalizingly  across  the  room.  There  was  a  flash  of 
pursuit,  a  faint  thin  shriek,  a  dead  squirrel  lying  limp 
and  blood-stained  on  the  carpet.  Retribution  fol 
lowed  swiftly.  The  cat  was  punished,  reproached, 
held  over  its  victim,  and  finally  thrust  angrily  and 
ignominiously  from  the  house.  She  disappeared 
for  two  days,  and  her  mistress  was  beginning  to 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  247 

repent  her  severity,  when,  on  the  third  morning, 
she  returned,  bearing  in  her  mouth  a  little  live  chip 
munk  which  she  had  captured  in  the  woods,  and 
which  she  intended,  apparently,  should  take  the 
place  of  the  one  she  had  murdered. 

So  at  least  believes  every  member  of  that  deeply 
affected  family.  The  fact  that  cats  frequently  bring 
live  prey  into  the  house,  and  that  this  particular 
cat  had  done  so  on  several  other  occasions,  counts 
for  nothing.  The  coincidence  was  too  striking,  the 
logical  inference  too  conclusive.  No  reputation  for 
sanctity  was  ever  more  swiftly  or  more  surely  estab 
lished.  It  will  bear  many  a  sad  rent  in  the  future 
before  it  ceases  to  cover  a  multitude  of  iniquities. 

In  one  respect,  and  one  only,  the  intelligence  or 
instinct  of  the  cat  passes  our  comprehension,  and 
leaves  us  lost  in  amazement.  No  homing  pigeon 
speeds  more  surely  to  its  goal  than  does  poor  Pussy 
when  banished  from  the  roof- tree  that  she  loves. 
The  bird  wings  its  safe  flight  through  the  broad 
ether,  without  let  or  hindrance.  The  cat  encounters 
and  overcomes  obstacles  that  seem  insuperable 
when  we  think  how  small  she  is,  how  weak  and 
helpless.  The  authenticated  stories  of  her  exploits 
in  this  regard  are  happily  so  marvellous  that  they 
cannot  be  outdone  by  man's  industrious  invention. 
One  of  the  best  is  told  by  that  "  wise  and  honest 
traveller,"  Arthur  Young,  who  leased  Samford  Hall, 


248  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

an  old  Essex  place,  formerly  tenanted  by  a  gentle 
man  named  Farquharson.  Mrs.  Farquharson  had 
a  cat  which  she  highly  prized,  and  which  she  sent 
by  coach  in  a  closed  bag  or  basket  to  her  new  home 
at  Yatesby  Bridge,  in  Hampshire.  Five  days  later, 
Young  received  a  letter  from  her,  bewailing  the  loss 
of  her  favourite  who  had  promptly  disappeared  as 
soon  as  released  from  constraint  ;  and,  on  the  fol 
lowing  morning,  Pussy  made  her  appearance  at 
Samford  Hall,  looking  very  forlorn  and  out  at 
elbows,  but  plainly  delighted  to  be  home  again. 
She  had  not  only  travelled  seventy  miles  over  an 
unknown  country  filled  with  dangers ;  but  had 
actually  crossed  or  skirted  London,  —  "  threaded 
the  Metropolis,"  says  Young  more  poetically,  —  in 
the  course  of  her  adventurous  journey. 

Mr.  Andrew  Lang  is  responsible  for  the  story  of 
a  cat  which  was  carried  from  Saint  Andrews  to 
Perth.  He  came  back  in  less  than  a  week.  "  Did 
he  swim  the  Tay  and  Eden,"  asks  Mr.  Lang  medi 
tatively,  "  or  did  he  travel  by  rail,  changing  at 
Dundee  and  Leuchars  ?  "  A  Flemish  cat,  living 
in  the  country  near  Malines,  outsped  twelve  car 
rier  pigeons,  traversing  eight  leagues,  crossing  the 
Scheldt,  Heaven  knows  how !  and  reaching  home 
well  in  advance  of  his  winged  competitors. 

"  Men  prize  the  heartless   hound  who  quits  dry-eyed  his  native 

land, 
Who  wags  a  mercenary  tail,  and  licks  a  tyrant's  hand. 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  249 

The  leal  true  cat  they  prize  not,  that  if  e'er  compelled  to  roam, 
Still  flies,  when  let  out  of  the  bag,  precipitately  home." 

An  amusing  instance  of  Pussy's  incurable  nos 
talgia  is  related  by  M.  Champfleury.  A  country 
cure  of  his  acquaintance  received  a  more  important 
charge  in  a  neighbouring  town,  and  moved  thither 
with  his  little  household,  consisting  of  an  old  ser 
vant,  a  tame  crow,  and  a  female  cat.  The  crow 
was  a  clever  and  voluble  vaurien  ;  the  cat  —  despite 
her  sex — an  unprincipled  freebooter  ;  the  servant 
an  affectionate  scold  ;  and  the  cure  an  amused  spec 
tator  of  their  constant  and  animated  bickerings. 
Two  days  after  the  journey  to  town,  Pussy  disap 
peared.  The  crow,  uneasy  at  her  absence,  hopped 
disconsolately  about  his  new  abode.  The  house 
keeper  was  loud  in  her  lamentations.  The  cure  felt 
a  reasonable  alarm  lest  the  current  of  her  hourly 
reproaches,  checked  in  its  ordinary  course,  might 
before  long  be  diverted  in  his  direction. 

A  week  passed,  and  a  former  parishioner  came 
to  the  priest's  door,  bearing  in  a  bag  the  missing 
cat,  whom  he  had  found  mewing  disconsolately  at 
the  gate  of  her  old  home.  She  was  welcomed  with 
delight,  and  the  household  seemed  restored  to  its 
former  state  of  quarrelsome  tranquillity,  when,  one 
fair  morning,  behold !  her  place  by  the  hearth  was 
again  vacant.  This  time  she  was  promptly  sought 
for,  and  discovered  prowling  about  the  garden  of 


25o  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

the  village  parsonage,  thin,  half-starved,  wretched, 
the  shadow  of  her  old  defiant  self.  Carried  back 
once  more  to  town,  everything  was  done  that  might 
content  her  restless  little  heart.  The  housekeeper 
fed  her  with  dainties,  and  even  ministered  delicately 
to  her  predatory  tastes  by  leaving  the  cupboard 
door  open,  as  if  by  accident,  hoping  to  tempt  her 
failing  appetite  with  the  sweetness  of  stolen  cream. 

"  Yet  the  fruit  were  scarce  worth  peeling, 
Were  it  not  for  stealing,  stealing." 

It  was  all  in  vain.  The  familiar  walls  called  to  her 
from  afar,  and,  obeying  an  instinct  too  strong  for 
rejection,  she  journeyed  wearily  back,  to  die,  if  need 
be,  in  her  kittenhood's  home. 

Then  the  wise  old  servant,  feeling  that  only  radi 
cal  measures  could  cure  so  obstinate  a  disease, 
devised  a  plan  which  shows  how  well  she  under 
stood  the  nature  of  a  cat.  There  was  a  little  pond 
at  the  foot  of  the  cure's  country  garden,  where, 
erstwhile,  Pussy  had  been  wont  to  lie  dreaming  the 
summer  days  away.  Going  herself  to  the  village, 
the  woman  directed  one  of  the  farmer  boys  —  an 
active  and  mischievous  lad  —  to  catch  her  truant 
pet,  and  dip  her  three  times  deep  under  the  cold 
and  hateful  water.  It  was  enough.  Fclis  amat 
pisccs,  sed  non  vult  tingcre  plantain.  And  to  be 
thus  scandalously  ill-treated  in  the  spot  she  loved 
best,  where  she  had  lorded  it  over  the  neighbouring 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  251 

cats,  and  where  hitherto  no  human  hand  had  ever 
dared  to  assail  her.  The  dripping  creature,  furious, 
frightened,  outraged  in  her  best  feelings,  flew  to  her 
old  friend  for  protection,  went  meekly  back  under 
her  sheltering  cloak,  and  never  again  sought  to 
return  to  the  now  painful  scene  of  her  humiliation. 
A  ship  cat  loves  its  home  as  unswervingly  as  the 
happier  animal  whose  lot  is  cast  amid  gardens  and 
moonlit  walls.  To  the  landsman's  prejudiced  eye 
there  is  little  choice  in  boats,  especially  in  the  dis 
mal  and  dirty  cargo  boats  "  that  sail  the  wet  seas 
roun'."  They  may  be  "  England's  pride  ;  "  but,  as 
permanent  habitations,  they  seem  to  lack  everything 
that  would  appeal  to  the  refined  instincts  and  rest 
less  habits  of  a  cat.  Yet  Pussy  is  as  faithful  to  her 
"hollow  oak"  as  poets  have  ever  pretended  to  be, 
and  will  not  barter  its  manifold  discomforts  for  the 
pleasant  firesides  of  earth.  A  very  beautiful  cat, 
carried  in  infancy  from  some  remote  village  in  the 
Apennines,  was  given  as  a  mascot  to  the  Italian 
captain  of  an  oil-tank  steamer  which  ran  between 
Savona  and  Point  Breeze,  Philadelphia.  In  the 
course  of  time  she  presented  the  ship  with  a  family 
of  kittens,  who  were  less  than  a  month  old  when 
the  Philadelphia  docks  were  reached.  Like  other 
sailors,  Pussy  indulged  in  some  irregularities  while 
on  shore  ;  and,  as  the  result  of  prolonged  dissipa 
tion,  she  was  found  to  be  missing  when  the  Bayonne 


252  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

was  loaded,  and  ready  to  depart.  Search  was  made 
in  vain  about  the  wharves,  and  Captain  Hugo  was 
compelled,  not  only  to  sail  without  his  mascot,  but 
to  assume  the  responsibility  for  her  abandoned 
infants. 

Two  days  later  the  prodigal  came  back.  Another 
and  a  larger  boat  filled  the  Bayonne's  place.  Re 
pentant  and  dismayed,  she  visited  every  steamer  in 
the  docks ;  then,  convinced  that  her  indiscretions 
had  made  her  both  homeless  and  kittenless,  she 
took  up  her  quarters  in  a  watch-box,  and  patiently 
awaited  Captain  Hugo's  return.  Week  followed 
week  ;  scores  of  barks  arrived,  and  were  each  in 
turn  anxiously  inspected  ;  and  still,  undiscouraged 
by  repeated  disappointments,  she  bravely  kept  her 
post.  At  last  the  Bayonne  was  sighted,  and  there 
was  no  need  this  time  to  hunt  for  the  cat.  There 
she  stood,  quivering  with  agitation,  on  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  wharf,  as  the  malodorous  little  craft 
plied  its  way  along  the  river.  The  captain's  big 
black  dog,  Pussy's  old  friend  and  companion,  barked 
his  furious  welcome  from  the  deck.  The  sound  in 
creased  her  excitement,  and,  when  the  steamer  was 
still  twelve  feet  from  the  docks,  she  cleared  with 
flying  leap  the  intervening  space,  and,  mid  the 
cheers  of  the  crew,  ran  straight  to  the  captain's 
cabin  where  she  had  left  her  kittens  two  months 
before.  They  were  well-grown  young  cats  by  this 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  253 

time,  and  disposed  to  resent  her  intrusion ;  but  the 
mother's  joy  was  as  excessive  as  if  she  had  been 
parted  from  them  for  but  a  single  night. 

In  fact,  maternal  affection  is  the  only  sentiment 
which  can  compete  in  the  cat's  little  heart  with  her 
fondness  for  her  dwelling-place.  She  loves  her  kit 
tens,  and  she  loves  her  home  ;  and,  when  these  two 
emotions  contend  for  mastery,  it  will  be  generally 
found  that  her  love  for  her  kittens  triumphs.  A 
pathetic  proof  of  this  was  afforded  by  a  cat  belong 
ing  to  an  English  military  chaplain  at  Madras. 
Her  master,  moving  to  the  other  side  of  the  town, 
left  her  behind,  or  rather  gave  her  to  the  new 
tenant,  believing  she  would  be  more  content  under 
her  familiar  rooftree.  Six  weeks  later  she  stood  at 
his  door,  holding  in  her  mouth  a  young  kitten, 

"  Sole  daughter  of  her  house  and  heart," 

which,  when  admitted,  she  laid  at  his  feet  for  sanc 
tuary.  It  was  then  discovered  that  the  rest  of  her 
litter  had  been  drowned ;  and  the  poor  mother, 
with  an  intelligence  miraculously  sharpened  by  love 
and  fear,  had  carried  the  one  little  survivor  to  her 
only  friend,  to  beg  his  pity  and  protection. 

For  what  pangs  are  suffered  all  their  lives  by 
these  animals  whose  fecundity  is  their  bane ;  little 
Rachels  whose  mute  wretchedness  no  one  heeds  nor 
commiserates,  and  who  mourn,  briefly,  it  is  true, 


254  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

but  bitterly,  the  perpetual  murder  of  their  off 
spring.  Cases,  indeed,  are  recorded  of  indifference, 
of  neglect,  and  even  of  cold-blooded  butchery  on 
the  part  of  young  cat  mothers  ;  but  they  count  for 
little  when  contrasted  with  the  overwhelming  evi 
dences  of  care  and  affection.  M.  Pierquin  de  Gem- 
bloux,  in  his  "  Traite  de  la  Folie  des  Animaux," 
asserts  that  female  cats  occasionally  betray  a  jealous 
detestation  of  their  kittens,  and  instances  a  Spanish 
Angora  who  destroyed  all  her  young  at  their  birth, 
twice  only  sparing  male  kittens,  which  she  ignored, 
but  permitted  —  through  some  cold  caprice  —  to 
live. 

More  repellant  still  are  the  authenticated  stories 
—  happily  very  few  —  of  pussies  who  prefer  their 
own  selfish  ease  to  the  joys  of  motherhood.  Of 
two  such  cases  I  have  melancholy  knowledge.  One 
was  that  of  an  English  cat  who  so  neglected  her 
first  litter  that  the  poor  little  things  were  in  danger 
of  perishing  through  starvation.  To  prevent  this 
catastrophe,  and  teach  her  the  nature  of  her  duties, 
she  was  shut  up  with  her  kittens  in  the  tool-house ; 
whereupon  she  indignantly  trampled  them  to  death, 
and,  hiding  the  wee  corpses  in  a  corner,  hastened, 
when  the  door  was  opened,  to  more  luxurious 
quarters.  She  was  young,  and  she  was  very  pretty. 
Her  master  pardoned  her,  but  showed,  in  a  manner 
she  could  not  mistake,  his  anger  and  disgust;  caress- 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  255 

ing  the  dead  kittens  with  pitying  hands,  and  refus 
ing  to  reinstate  her  into  favour.  The  lesson  was  not 
lost.  Another  litter  arrived  in  the  course  of  time, 
and  was  endured  with  tolerable  patience  ;  a  third 
awoke  some  languid  interest  in  the  maternal  heart ; 
and  she  lived  to  rear  a  dozen  families,  —  a  solicitous, 
painstaking,  but  never  affectionate  parent. 

The  second  criminal  was  a  New  England  cat, 
and  the  motive  for  the  crime  was  the  same,  —  an 
aversion  to  the  care  of  children,  and  an  unwilling 
ness  to  exchange  the  drawing-room  rug  for  the 
kitchen  fire.  This  mother  deliberately  carried  out 
her  kittens  one  by  one,  and  dropped  them  in  the 
water-butt  ;  then  returned  to  the  house  with  a  brow 
as  calm  as  if  her  conscience  were  at  rest,  and  no 
little  dripping  corpses  could  trouble  her  repose. 

"  She  's  ta'en  the  ribbons  frae  her  hair, 
And  bound  their  bodies  fast  and  sair. 

She 's  put  them  aneath  a  marble  stane, 
Thinking  a  maid  to  gae  her  hame." 

But  how  rare  these  instances  of  depravity,  and 
how  perpetual  the  proofs  of  Pussy's  maternal  love  ! 
What  terrors  fill  her  anxious  little  heart,  when  — 
warned  by  bitter  experience  —  she  tries  to  hide  her 
unwelcome  family  from  human  eyes.  In  attic,  in 
cellar,  in  barn  or  stable,  she  tucks  them  out  of  sight, 
stealing  to  them  with  many  pitiful  precautions,  lest 


256  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

her  presence  should  betray  them  to  their  death.  She 
sometimes  seeks,  in  this  her  utmost  need,  help  from 
those  whom  her  instinct  bids  her  trust,  as  the  poor 
cat  at  Madras  fled  to  her  former  master  for  pro 
tection.  M.  Pierquin  de  Gembloux  tells  us  of  a 
cat  that  belonged  to  M.  Moreau  de  Saint  Mery, 
and  that  had  never  been  permitted  to  rear  a  single 
kitten.  When  she  gave  birth  to  her  third  litter, 
the  servant,  wishing  to  be  as  kind  as  cruelty  would 
permit,  stole  from  her  only  one  little  victim  each 
day,  in  order  that  she  might  grow  accustomed 
"  tout  doucement  "  to  her  loss.  For  five  mornings 
this  relentless  robbery  was  continued,  until  but  a 
single  kitten  remained  in  the  basket.  Then,  des 
perate  and  determined,  the  cat  carried  this  survivor 
into  her  master's  study,  leaped  to  his  lap,  and  laid 
it  gently  upon  his  knee,  looking  in  his  face  with  a 
mute  prayer  that  could  neither  be  misunderstood 
nor  rejected.  M.  de  Saint  Mery  gave  orders  that 
the  kitten  should  be  spared ;  but  its  mother,  too 
fearful  to  trust  her  good  fortune,  brought  it  back 
every  morning  for  weeks,  laid  it  regularly  on  his 
knee  or  at  his  feet,  and  besought  anew  his  merciful 
interference. 

Even  in  happier  homes,  maternity  brings  to  the 
cat  a  host  of  tender  cares.  She  is  never  without 
solicitude,  and  shows  in  a  hundred  pretty  ways  her 
anxiety  for  the  safety  and  welfare  of  her  children. 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  257 

A  Boston  puss,  seeing  the  family  preparing  for 
their  summer  exodus,  deposited  her  kitten  in  one 
of  the  open  boxes,  as  a  timely  hint  that  it  was  not 
to  be  left  behind  ;  and  another  equally  intelligent 
animal,  before  engaging  in  combat  with  a  rat, 
dropped  Jicr  kitten  into  a  dresser  drawer,  determined 
to  have  it  out  of  danger.  Mr.  Lang  tells  the  story 
of  a  poor  vagabond  cat  who,  with  her  young  son, 
came  daily  to  his  door  to  beg.  The  kitten,  being 
pretty  and  vivacious,  was  adopted  by  a  neighbour 
ing  family,  and  reared  in  luxury ;  but  still  the 
mother,  when  any  especial  delicacy  like  a  bit  of  fish 
was  accorded  her  in  Christian  charity,  scaled  the 
dividing  wall,  and  gave  it  to  the  greedy  little  lad, 
who, 

"  With  every  wish  of  cathood  well  fulfilled," 

was  not  ashamed  to  eat  his  parent's  scanty  rations. 
Nothing  can  exceed  the  bravery  and  devotion  of 
the  cat  when  any  danger  threatens  her  young.  It 
is  then  that  her  apparent  timidity  —  that  feline 
instinct  of  flight  which  veils  the  resolute  spirit 
beneath  —  hardens  into  intrepidity.  It  is  then  that 
she  stands  at  bay,  and  shows  the  splendid  courage 
of  desperation,  defying  fate,  whether  it  takes  the 
form  of  dog,  or  children,  or  the  destroying  elements. 
St.  George  Mivart  tells  us  of  a  cat  who  plunged 
into  a  swiftly  running  stream,  and  rescued  her 
three  drowning  kittens,  bringing  them  one  by  one 


258  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

to  shore.  When  Lusby's  Music  Hall  in  London 
was  burned  in  1 884,  it  chanced  that  a  cat  belonging 
to  the  proprietor  had  recently  kittened,  and  her  lit 
tie  family  lay  in  a  basket  at  the  rear  of  the  stage. 
Three  times  that  cat  made  her  way  through  the 
smoke  and  fire,  and  reappeared,  carrying  a  kit 
ten  in  her  mouth.  The  third  time  she  was  so 
terribly  scorched  as  to  be  unrecognizable  ;  she  was 
blind,  and  of  her  beautiful  fur  hardly  a  patch  was 
left.  A  fireman  in  sheer  pity  tried  to  catch  the 
creature ;  but  she  leaped  from  his  hands,  and  went 
straight  back  into  the  flames  after  the  fourth  kitten. 
That  she  reached  it  was  proven  by  the  two  little 
bodies,  burned  to  a  crisp,  that  were  found  lying 
side  by  side  when  the  fire  was  extinguished.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  surpass  the  heroism  of  that 
London  cat.  Human  mothers  have  done  as  much. 
It  does  not  lie  in  the  power  of  man  or  woman  to  do 
more. 

In  their  ordinary  family  relations,  cats  show  af 
fection,  consideration,  and  politeness.  Paternity, 
which  we  stupidly  imagine  to  be  ignored,  carries 
with  it  responsibilities  that  the  father,  when  he  is 
an  honoured  member  of  the  home  circle,  never 
dreams  of  neglecting.  M.  Gautier  found  that  the 
father's  interest  in  his  offspring  was  unremitting  ; 
and  I  once  knew  an  English  Tom  who  took  the 
athletic  training  of  his  children  entirely  upon  his 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  259 

own  capable  shoulders,  teaching  them  assiduously 
to  climb  trees,  to  scale  walls,  and  to  spring  upon 
birds.  M.  Dupont  de  Nemours  gives  a  charming 
instance  of  grandmotherly  care  and  devotion  on  the 
part  of  a  cat  whose  young  daughter  was  very  ill 
after  the  birth  of  her  first  kittens.  She  had  a 
little  family  of  her  own  at  the  same  time ;  but 
she  gathered  her  grandchildren  into  her  overflow 
ing  basket,  nursed  them,  and  watched  over  them 
attentively,  until  their  parent  was  able  to  assume 
her  maternal  duties. 

"A  kitten,"  says  M.  Champfleury,  "is  the  de 
light  of  a  household.  All  day  long  a  comedy  is 
played  by  this  incomparable  actor."  As  fora  litter 
of  kittens,  a  nid  dc  cliatons,  as  the  French  prettily 
phrase  it,  no  misanthrope  could  resist  their  seduc 
tions.  The  spirit  of  mischief,  the  spirit  of  frolic, 
the  spirit  of  drollery  animate  these  small  mummers, 
and  prompt  them  to  their  parts.  Their  curiosity 
is  insatiable.  "Everything  that  moves,"  observes 
Moncriff,  "serves  to  amuse  them.  They  believe 
that  all  nature  is  occupied  with  their  diversion." 
The  most  intrepid  of  explorers,  they  make  strange 
voyages  of  discovery  in  dark  closets,  underneath 
beds  and  bureaus,  up  curtains  and  table  legs,  trem 
bling  with  excitement,  and  with  a  terror  which  is 
half  pretence.  Their  agility  is  wonderful,  yet  no 
less  ridiculous  than  their  hardihood.  The  school- 


260  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

boy  who  wrote  in  his  composition,  "  A  kitten  is 
chiefly  remarkable  for  rushing  like  mad  at  nothing 
whatever,  and  generally  stopping  before  it  gets 
there,"  should  have  made  a  great  naturalist.  Like 
Gilbert  White,  he  knew  how  to  observe. 

A  female  cat  is  kept  young  in  spirit  and  supple 
in  body  by  the  restless  vivacity  of  her  kittens.  She 
plays  with  her  little^  ones,  fondles  them,  pursues 
them  if  they  roam  too  far,  and  corrects  them 
sharply  for  all  the  faults  to  which  feline  infancy  is 
heir.  A  kitten  dislikes  being  washed  quite  as  much 
as  a  child  does,  especially  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  its  ears.  It  tries  to  escape  the  infliction,  rolls 
away,  paddles  with  its  little  paws,  and  behaves  as 
naughtily  as  it  knows  how,  until  a  smart  slap  brings 
it  suddenly  back  to  subjection.  Pussy  has  no  con 
fidence  in  moral  suasion,  but  implicitly  follows  Solo 
mon's  somewhat  neglected  advice.  I  was  once  told 
a  pleasant  story  of  an  English  cat  who  had  reared 
several  large  families,  and  who,  dozing  one  day 
before  the  nursery  fire,  was  disturbed  and  an 
noyed  by  the  whining  of  a  fretful  child.  She  bore 
it  as  long  as  she  could,  waiting  for  the  nurse  to  in 
terpose  her  authority ;  then,  finding  passive  endur 
ance  had  outstripped  the  limits  of  her  patience, 
she  arose,  crossed  the  room,  jumped  on  the  sofa, 
and  twice  with  her  strong  soft  paw,  which  had 
chastised  many  an  erring  kitten,  deliberately  boxed 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  261 

the  little  girl's  ears,  —  after  which  she  returned  to 
her  slumbers. 

Instances  of  friendship  among  cats  —  as  that 
charming  bond  of  intimacy  which  united  Mou- 
moutte  Blanche  and  Moumoutte  Chinoise  —  are 
very  rare.  The  dog,  it  is  said,  lives  contentedly 
without  companions  of  his  own  species,  because 
his  all-absorbing  affection  for  his  master  satisfies 
the  desires  of  his  heart.  He  has  been  well  termed 
the  friend  of  man.  But  nobody  would  dream  of 
calling  Pussy  the  friend  of  man.  She  is  nothing 
of  the  kind ;  yet  neither  is  she  the  friend  of  other 
pussies.  Two  cats  will  live  for  years  under  the 
same  roof,  without  vulgar  jealousy  or  coarse  con 
tention,  but  also  without  any  approach  to  confi 
dential  intercourse.  If  one  of  them  has  a  fancy 
for  companionship,  she  will  "  take  up "  with  a 
horse,  —  her  favourite  animal,  especially  if  he  be 
thoroughbred.  Many  racers  have  had  warm  friend 
ships  with  cats,  and  the  famous  stallion,  Godolphin, 
lived  for  years  on  terms  of  the  closest  intimacy  with 
a  black  cat,  who,  it  is  stated,  pined  away  with  grief 
after  his  death.  Failing  horses,  Pussy  has  been 
known  to  entertain  herself  with  the  society  of  a 
dog,  a  chicken,  a  rabbit,  any  alien  thing  rather  than 
one  of  her  own  reserved  race.  Cats  living  in 
zoological  gardens  have  formed  erratic  attach 
ments  for  elephants,  —  big,  gentle  beasts,  depressed 


262  THE   FIRESIDE    SPHINX 

by  close  captivity,  and  grateful  possibly  for  a  little 
notice. 

Such  exceptional  cases,  however,  count  for  little 
in  the  history  of  the  cat.  If  disposed  to  be  social, 
she  will  accord  her  good-will  to  any  animal  she  fan 
cies  ;  if  disposed  to  be  motherly,  she  will  adopt  and 
rear  a  puppy,  a  rat,  or  a  young  pigeon  ;  but  as  a  rule 
she  is  sufficient  to  herself,  is  never  bored  by  her 
own  company,  and  preserves  an  immaculate  freedom 
from  enthusiasm,  sympathy,  or  benevolence.  She 
can  be  taught  to  live  in  amity  with  both  birds  and 
beasts,  and  even  to  tolerate  indecent  liberties  of 
the  "Happy  Family"  order,  —  sparrows  hopping 
on  her  head,  and  white  mice  frisking  foolishly  at 
her  feet.  She  can  also  be  taught  to  ride  a  wheel, 
and  jump  through  hoops  of  fire.  These  things  de 
note  the  nadir  of  her  degradation  ;  and  happily  she 
lends  herself  with  such  ill  grace  to  exhibitions  of 
this  order,  that,  notwithstanding  our  base  relish  for 
all  that  is  out  of  nature,  they  are  not  of  very  com 
mon  occurrence. 

Some  amiable  naturalists  would  have  us  believe 
that  there  is  no  especial  hostility  between  cat  and 
dog,  —  only  a  trifling  jealousy,  fostered  by  man. 
They  quote  instances  of  marked  affection,  and  tell 
pretty  stories  about  big  Newfoundlands  that  pro 
tect  small  kittens,  and  wise  old  tabbies  that  rear 
and  educate  foolish  and  motherless  puppies.  As 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  263 

well  deny  the  animosity  of  Celt  and  Saxon,  on  the 
score  of  individual  friendship,  or  chance  deed  of 
mercy.  Like  the  deep-rooted  hatred  of  nations, 
alien  in  race,  yet  thrust  by  fate  upon  one  another's 
border  lands,  is  the  hatred  that  never  sleeps  in  the 
hearts  of  these  sworn  enemies.  The  dog,  a  gen 
erous  and  chivalric  beast,  degenerates  into  a  cruel 
bully  the  instant  that  he  sees  a  cat.  The  cat, 
brave  and  courteous,  falls  into  a  sheer  frenzy  of 
rage  and  fear  when  she  encounters  her  ancestral 
foe.  St.  George  Mivart  tells  us  that  this  antipathy 
—  the  inheritance  of  ages  —  is  so  strong  in  kittens 
only  a  few  days  old,  that  they  have  manifested 
both  anger  and  terror,  spitting  with  comical  fury 
when  touched  by  a  hand  that  had  recently  fondled 
a  dog. 

Mr.  Louis  Robinson,  in  his  interesting  volume  on 
"Wild  Traits  in  Tame  Animals,"  asserts  that  the 
spitting  of  young  kittens,  and  their  beautiful  striped 
fur,  are  both  due  to  "protective  mimicry,"  nature's 
clever  scheme  for  the  deception  of  her  stronger 
children,  and  the  preservation  of  her  weaker  ones. 
She  taught  the  kitten  in  its  savage  state  to  spit 
when  disturbed  or  frightened,  so  that  prowling  ene 
mies,  like  dog  or  wolf,  might  mistake  the  sound  for 
the  hissing  of  snakes  ;  and  she  banded  its  fur  so 
that  birds  of  prey,  glancing  down  from  afar,  might 
think  the  helpless  creature  a  coiled  serpent,  and 


264  THE    FIRESIDE    SPHINX 

forbear  to  swoop.  Some  of  us  have  long  laboured 
under  the  delusion  —  fostered  by  prints  in  early 
school  books  —  that  eagles  are  particularly  addicted 
to  pouncing  upon  snakes,  but  Mr.  Robinson  says 
they  infinitely  prefer  to  take  their  chances  with  a 
cat. 

Another  point  upon  which  this  clever  writer 
dwells  emphatically  is  the  proof  afforded  by  Pussy's 
household  habits  of  her  solitary  life  before  domesti 
cation.  Even  now,  after  centuries  of  civilization,  a 
dog  bolts  his  food  in  evident  fear  of  interruption, 
hides  his  bones  underground,  growls  and  snarls  if 
another  dog  approaches  his  plate,  and  shows  plainly 
that  in  old  savage  days  he  was  a  member  of  an 
active  and  not  too  honest  community.  The  cat, 
never  accustomed  to  tribal  life,  evinces  a  different 
disposition.  "  When  given  anything  to  eat,"  ob 
serves  Mr.  Robinson,  "  she  first  carefully  smells 
the  morsel,  then  takes  it  in.  a  deliberate  and  gin 
gerly  way,  and  sits  down  to  finish  it  at  leisure. 
There  is  none  of  that  inclination  to  snatch  hastily 
at  food  held  before  her,  which  we  see  in  even  well- 
trained  dogs  ;  nor  does  a  cat  seem  in  any  hurry  to 
stow  her  goods  in  the  one  place  where  thieving  ras 
cals  cannot  interfere  with  them." 

It  is  but  fair  to  state  that  Mr.  Robinson's  theo 
ries  have  been  stoutly  opposed  by  Mr.  Andrew 
Lang,  who,  though  not  a  naturalist,  has  enjoyed 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  265 

ample  opportunities  for  observation.  He  is  ill 
pleased  with  hasty  inferences  where  the  cat  is  con 
cerned,  and  even  thinks  them  a  little  impertinent, 
as  indicating  a  tendency  on  the  writer's  part  to 
claim  familiar  acquaintance  with  an  animal  who  po 
litely,  but  resolutely,  declines  familiarity.  No  two 
cats,  says  Mr.  Lang,  have  the  same  traits.  One 
eats  his  dinner  like  a  gentleman.  His  ancestors 
evidently  lived  in  hermit-like  seclusion.  Another 
prefers  raiding  his  companion's  dish.  His  fore 
fathers,  by  the  same  token,  must  have  been  accus 
tomed  to  society.  Even  Mr.  Robinson's  conclusion 
that  the  tailless  Manx  cat  is  probably  a  repre 
sentative  of  some  ancient  wild  species,  finds  no 
favour  in  Mr.  Lang's  eyes.  He  has  accounted 
long  ago  in  a  fashion  satisfactory  to  himself,  and 
on  strict  "principles  of  evolution,"  for  this  unfor 
tunate  animal's  peculiarity. 

"  Man,"  he  says,  "  is  a  Celtic  island.  The  Celts 
(in  Brittany  at  least)  believe  that  if  you  tread  on  a 
cat's  tail,  a  serpent  will  come  out  and  sting  you. 
This  made  people  shy  of  cats  with  tails.  But  a 
tailless  cat  being  born  by  a  pure  fluke  (see  Darwin 
on  Sports),  and  transmitting  its  peculiarity  to  its 
offspring,  these  cats  with  no  tails  were  especially 
adapted  to  their  Celtic  environment.  People  could 
make  pets  of  them,  without  fear  of  serpents.  The 
other  cats  were  killed  off,  or  died  for  lack  of  friendly 


266  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

treatment.  This  could  only  occur  in  insular  condi 
tions.  Hence  the  Isle  of  Man  possesses  Manx  cats." 
Why  not  accept  the  still  more  ingenious  theory 
of  the  poet  who  suggests  that  these  "  isle-nurtured  " 
pussies  may  possibly  wear  away  their  tails 

"  By  sedentary  habits, 
As  do  the  rabbits." 

Manx  cats  are  sometimes  held  to  be  of  a  cold  and 
almost  churlish  disposition,  occasioned  perhaps  by 
much  sorrowful  brooding  over  their  lost  tails.  Yet 
I  once  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  handsome  young 
scion  of  the  race,  who  lived  in  Penrith,  and  who, 
though  lacking  vivacity,  possessed  singular  sweet 
ness  of  character.  Mr.  Harrison  Weir,  the  author 
of  a  very  useful  book  upon  cats,  says  that  only  the 
finest  Manx  varieties  are  absolutely  tailless,  the 
commoner  sort  possessing  little  stumpy  apologies 
for  the  missing  member.  He  gives  warm  praise 
to  the  beautiful  Abyssinian  cats,  silver  grey  with 
orange  eyes,  whose  ancestors  are  believed  to  have 
been  Pasht's  favoured  pussies,  and  the  little  gods  of 
Egypt.  Also  to  the  Siamese  cats,  once  so  jealously 
guarded  in  the  palace  of  kings,  but  now  exported 
occasionally  to  Europe  and  America.  These  feline 
royalties  are  small,  muscular,  and  daringly  athletic, 
of  a  chocolate  or  dun  colour,  "the  shade  of  wood 
ashes,"  say  the  Siamese  poetically,  and  have  thin, 
pointed,  and  rather  forlorn  tails.  Their  eyes  are 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  267 

sapphire  blue  or  pale  amber,  and  they  possess  the 
human  and  undesirable  accomplishment  of  shedding 
tears  in  moments  of  anger  or  agitation.  Of  a  gen 
tle  and  affectionate  disposition,  they  are  said  to 
make  devoted  husbands  and  fathers, — an  uncom 
mon  but  by  no  means  unknown  trait  among  cats 
whose  family  ties  are  fostered  by  kindness  and 
sympathy. 

Notwithstanding  the  blueness  of  their  blood,  and 
the  princely  seclusion  in  which  they  have  lived  for 
centuries,  Siamese  cats  are  ardent  mousers,  and 
love  the  pleasures  of  the  chase  as  well  as  any  sta 
ble-born  animal,  bred  to  the  sport  from  tenderest 
kittenhood.  This  is  the  ruling  passion  of  the  race, 
as  we  are  told  by  ALsop  and  La  Fontaine.  The 
fair  cat-bride  of  fable  slipped  from  her  husband's 
arms  to  chase  a  flying  mouse  ;  and  among  the  hap 
piest  pussies  to-day  are  probably  those  hard-worked 
servants  of  the  public  who  do  not  know  their  own 
utility.  The  National  Printing  Office  of  France 
employs  a  large  staff  of  cats  to  guard  the  paper 
from  devastating  rats  and  mice.  No  salary  is  paid 
them  ;  but  the  cost  of  their  daily  meals  and  the 
wages  of  their  custodian  are  regular  items  of  expend 
iture.  Cats  are  kept  also  in  some  of  the  French 
military  magazines ;  and  a  recent  report  states  with 
becoming  gravity  that  the  authorized  allowance  is 
not  sufficient  for  their  comfortable  maintenance. 


268  THE    FIRESIDE   SPHINX 

"The  cats  of  the  army,"  confesses  this  report,  "  are 
very  slow  to  accustom  themselves  to  the  diet  pre 
scribed  by  the  government  circular  ; "  and,  with 
lamentable  lack  of  patriotism,  they  desert  their 
posts  in  favour  of  more  liberal  accommodation. 
Vienna  has  its  official  cats,  supported  in  affluence  by 
the  municipality.  When  too  old  for  service,  they 
are  placed  on  the  retired  list,  and  honourably  pen 
sioned,  as  becomes  a  city  which  leads  the  world  in 
the  wisdom  and  humanity  of  its  laws,  drawing  a 
sharp  line  of  distinction  between  the  idle  vagabond 
and  the  aged  poor  whose  day  for  work  is  over. 

The  Midland  Railway  in  England  has  eight  cats 
among  its  employees.  Their  headquarters  are  at 
Trent,  and  they  have  under  their  care  the  corn- 
sacks  —  some  four  hundred  thousand  in  number  — 
which  hold  the  grain  carried  by  the  road  to  its 
markets.  Other  railways  are  as  well  provided  ;  and 
the  pussies  that  work  in  the  London  dock-yards  seem 
to  be  among  the  most  useful  members  of  a  busy 
community.  It  is  even  said  that  they  assume  airs 
of  ridiculous  importance,  swaggering  around  the 
docks  in  off  hours,  and  giving  idlers  to  understand 
that  the  shipping  industries  of  London  depend 
largely  upon  their  intelligence  and  activity.  They 
are  a  closely  organized  body,  and  no  one  who  knows 
them  would  feel  surprised  at  hearing  any  day  of  a 
strike  among  the  dock-yard  cats.  The  same  as- 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  269 

sumption  of  responsibility  may  be  observed  in  the 
shop-keeping  pussies  of  France.  These  animals 
are  as  uniformly  courteous  as  are  their  human  as 
sistants  who  stand  behind  the  counters  and  sell 
goods  ;  but  it  is  plain  that  they  feel  the  dignity  of 
proprietorship,  and  are  deeply  versed  in  all  the  mys 
teries  of  trade. 

Cats  play  an  important  role  in  our  great  cold- 
storage  warehouses.  It  was  originally  hoped  that 
a  temperature  of  six  degrees  above  zero  would 
prove  too  severe  for  vermin  ;  but  rats  have  that 
singular  adaptability  of  character  with  which  nature 
loves  to  endow  the  least  popular  of  her  creatures. 
In  a  few  months  they  were  as  much  at  home  in 
the  freezing  atmosphere  as  if  they  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  it  for  generations  ;  and  were  rearing  large 
families  of  children,  all  comfortably  clad  in  coats  of 
double  ply.  Surrounded  by  wholesome  food,  they 
showed  the  discretion  of  their  ancient  race,  scoffed 
at  traps,  and  avoided  poisoned  bait. 

It  was  then  suggested  that  cats  might  learn  to 
bear  the  rigours  of  this  bitter  cold  ;  and  a  few  hardy 
pioneers  were  chosen  to  be  forever  banished  from 
light  and  warmth,  from  sunshine  and  the  joyousness 
of  earth.  Four  fifths  of  them  pined  and  died,  mar 
tyrs  to  unpitying  commercialism  ;  but  the  great 
principle  which  bids  the  fittest  survive,  triumphed 
once  more  over  cruel  conditions.  Kittens  raised  in 


270  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

the  icy  temperature  began  to  look  like  little  Polar 
bears,  their  fur  was  so  thick  and  warm.  By  degrees 
their  ears  were  hidden  under  furry  caps,  their  tails 
grew  short  and  bushy,  their  delicate  whiskers, 
coarse  and  strong.  They  preserved  their  health, 
and  developed  incredible  activity.  At  present,  cold- 
storage  cats  are  among  the  sturdiest  of  the  species  ; 
and  we  are  even  assured  by  those  who  hold  them 
prisoners  that  they  enjoy  their  dark  captivity,  and 
would  be  wretched  if  restored  to  normal  conditions. 
A  garden,  sweet  with  June  flowers,  and  flooded  with 
June  sunshine,  would,  it  is  said,  kill  them  outright. 
This  may  or  may  not  be  true.  It  is  much  the.fash- 
ion  of  men  to  assert  that  animals  like  what  is  done 
to  them.  There  are  plenty  of  people  ready  to  de 
clare  that  horses  take  pleasure  in  their  check-reins  ; 
and  we  have  all  of  us  heard  a  great  deal  about  the 
indifference  of  dogs  and  rabbits  to  the  discomforts 
of  vivisection. 

A  happier  lot  has  been  assigned  to  the  official 
cats  who  protect  the  mail  bags  of  the  United  States 
postal  service,  and  to  those  industrious  mousers 
who  toil  in  all  the  great  marts  of  the  world.  For 
while  Pussy  dearly  loves  the  country  and  the  free 
dom  of  green  fields,  she  can  content  herself  won 
derfully  well  in  towns  ;  and  leads  a  hard-worked, 
dissipated  life,  with  great  apparent  satisfaction. 
Much  regret  was  recently  expressed  by  a  big  Lon- 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  271 

don  firm  at  the  death  of  its  "best  foundry  cat,"  - 
which  phrase  seemed  puzzling  until  explanation  was 
made.  The  sand  used  for  casts  is  mixed  with  flour, 
and  this  flour  attracts  mice  and  rats  that  too  often 
spoil  the  moulds.  Cats  are  kept  to  eat  the  mice, 
and  they  in  turn  must  be  taught  not  to  walk  about 
on  the  moulds,  nor  scratch,  nor  injure  them  in  any 
way.  In  these  respects  the  "best  foundry  cat" 
had  been  made  perfect  by  practice,  and  his  loss  was 
an  event  to  be  deplored.  Every  department  of  this 
house  has  its  feline  police  corps,  even  the  galvan 
izing  shop,  where  a  brindled  veteran  knows  by  long 
experience  that  hot  metal  spurts  when  plates  are 
dipped  in  it,  and  has  learned  to  get  under  cover  at 
this  critical  juncture. 

The  recognition  of  the  cat's  utility,  and  her  em 
ployment  in  public  service,  are  not  merely  features 
of  modern  economics.  Among  the  requisitions  laid 
by  Frederick  the  Great  —  the  most  hard-headed 
and  hard-hearted  of  kings  and  soldiers  —  upon 
more  than  one  little  Saxon  and  Silesian  town,  was 
a  levy  of  cats  for  the  guarding  of  army  stores. 
Sometimes  it  even  happened  that  the  town  could 
not  provide  the  number  of  pussies  demanded  (per 
haps  the  poor  war-ravaged  inhabitants  loved  their 
pets,  having  little  else  left  them  in  the  world),  and 
permission  was  humbly  asked  that  weasels  should 
be  sent  instead. 


272  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

As  for  the  cats  who  live  in  newspaper  offices, 
in  police  stations,  and  in  the  unrestful  society  of 
fire  companies,  they  acquire  distinctive  habits  of 
their  own,  and  appear  strangely  remote  from  placid 
dwellers  by  domestic  hearths.  The  nocturnal  habits 
of  the  journalist  suit  the  "night-waking"  pussy  to 
perfection ;  but  the  din,  the  confusion,  the  vast  lit 
tered  spaces  of  the  printing  rooms  would  seem  to 
make  them  the  least  desirable  of  earthly  homes. 
Yet  newspaper  cats  love  these  tumultuous  sur 
roundings,  forget  the  serenity  of  gentler  days,  lose 
all  aspirations  towards  sweetness  and  light,  and 
abandon  themselves  unreservedly  to  the  joys  of 
scurry  and  excitement.  Their  kittens,  roughly 
reared,  tumble  about  under  giant  presses  and 
hurrying  feet,  escaping  destruction  only  by  that 
marvellous  faculty  for  self-preservation  which  bids 
defiance  to  danger. 

"  Had  we  not  nine  lives, 
I  wis  I  ne'er  had  seen  again  thy  sausage  shop,  St.  Ives." 

The  vulgar  and  deleterious  habit  of  eating  black 
beetles  is  begun  so  early,  and  continued  so  persist 
ently,  that  the  journalistic  kitling,  like  Rappaccini's 
daughter,  is  inured  to  poisonous  food.  It  grows  up 
happy  and  healthy  in  an  atmosphere  apparently  as 
uncongenial  as  that  of  the  police  station,  where  its 
little  cousins  are  making  a  wide  acquaintance  with 
felony ;  or  as  that  of  the  fire  company's  stables, 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  273 

where  another  litter  of  innocents  is  learning  the 
mystery  of  the  alarm,  and  watching  with  fearful  joy 
the  mad  rush  of  horses  to  their  goal. 

Household  cats  have  so  often  given  warning  of 
fires  that  their  services  in  this  regard  merit  both 
recognition  and  gratitude.  They  are  restless  at 
night,  and  easily  affrighted.  The  first  puff  of 
smoke,  the  first  crackling  of  flames  sends  them 
mewing  to  master  or  mistress  for  explanation  of 
this  phenomenon.  I  knew  a  Cornish  cat,  crippled 
and  singed,  whose  scars  bore  honourable  witness  to 
his  bravery.  His  owner,  the  rector  of  a  country 
parish,  was  aroused  before  daybreak  by  the  piteous 
scratching  and  crying  at  his  door.  When  it  was 
opened,  there  stood  poor  Pussy,  trembling,  scorched, 
but  determined,  while  the  halls  were  black  with 
smoke.  This  cat  never  fully  recovered  from  the 
shock,  but  remained  a  nervous  invalid  all  his  life, 
which  is  too  often  the  case  when  the  fright  has 
been  very  severe.  M.  Pierquin  de  Gembloux  re 
lates  several  instances  in  which  cats  were  rendered 
more  or  less  imbecile  by  sudden  and  overmastering 
terror.  One  little  Angora  fell  down  a  well,  and  was 
saved  from  being  drowned,  only  by  a  jutting  stone 
to  which  she  clung  with  desperation.  After  a  while 
her  cries  attracted  attention,  and  she  was  rescued ; 
but  the  ordeal  through  which  she  had  passed  had 
so  completely  unnerved  her  that  the  poor  thing 


274  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

never  recovered  her  mental  balance,  —  always  ap 
pearing  to  be  in  a  state  of  pitiable  apprehension. 

Animals  so  delicately  organized  are  necessarily 
sensitive  to  atmospheric  conditions.  An  approach 
ing  storm  starts  them  restlessly  wandering  from 
room  to  room.  They  have  been  known  to  exhibit 
signs  of  acute  disquietude  before  cyclones  and 
earthquakes.  In  1783  two  wise  cats  of  Messina 
behaved  so  strangely,  and  showed  such  evidences 
of  terror,  that  their  master,  infected  by  their  fear, 
fled  from  his  house  in  time  to  escape  the  first  great 
shock,  and  the  tumbling  of  his  walls  in  ruins. 

It  is  pleasant  to  relate  these  services  to  man  on 
the  part  of  little  beasts  who  do  not  often  pose  as 
our  benefactors,  and  who  have  been,  in  their  day, 
accused  of  much  ill-doing.  Even  now,  when  sus 
picions  of  witchcraft  are  allayed,  and  mothers  no 
longer  believe  that  cats  suck  the  blood  of  their 
sleeping  infants,  the  ancient  and  unconquerable 
prejudice  is  kept  alive  by  sad  stories  of  contagion, 
—  of  pussies  who  carry  diphtheria  and  scarlet  fever 
from  house  to  house,  with  a  malignity  worthy  of 
the  Jew  of  Malta. 

"  As  for  myself,  I  walk  abroad  a-nights, 
And  kill  sick  people  groaning  under  walls  ; 
Sometimes  I  go  about  and  poison  wells." 

Every  year  or  so  an  enterprising  newspaper  re 
porter  stirs  up  a  sleepy  bacteriologist,  and  per- 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  275 

suades  him  to  say  that  cats  sow  broadcast  the 
germs  of  deadly  disease,  and  that  they  are  beyond 
measure  dangerous  pets  in  the  nursery,  being  sub 
ject  to  all  the  maladies  that  can  be  passed  over 
to  the  little  children  who  caress  them.  If  well 
aroused,  the  scientific  gentleman  will  even  warm 
so  far  to  his  subject  as  to  suggest  that  the  entire 
feline  population  of  New  York  or  of  San  Francisco 
shall  be  exterminated  as  a  drastic  precautionary 
measure,  stoutly  maintaining  that  "  the  world  could 
get  along  very  well  without  cats."  This  is  true, 
but  if  we  once  establish  a  "  Society  for  Doing 
Without,"  -  —  Mr.  Barrie  proposed  it  to  our  consid 
eration  long  ago  —  we  are  not  likely  to  leave  much 
room  for  reporters  or  bacteriologists. 

Utilitarianism  is  but  a  base  foundation  for  esteem. 
The  cat's  true  place  is  by  our  glowing  hearths,  not 
in  cold-storage  warehouses,  nor  in  printing  offices ; 
her  true  mission  is  to  delight  the  eye,  and  afford 
reserved  and  restful  companionship,  not  to  guard 
our  belongings,  nor  look  after  our  personal  safety. 
As  the  old  lazy  cat  of  Florian's  fable  remarks  to 
the  lean,  laborious  one, 

"  Va,  le  secret  de  reussir, 
C'est  d'etre  adroit,  non  d'etre  utile." 

Pussy's  adroitness  is  equalled  only  by  her  delicacy 
and  tact.  Her  cleanliness  and  her  careful  attention 
to  her  toilet  show  respect  for  herself  and  for  us. 


276  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

She  is  seldom  intrusive,  and  never  exuberant,  but 
manifests  at  times  a  sweet  and  flattering  desire  to 
be  with  us,  whether  we  are  reading  silently,  oblivi 
ous  of  her  presence,  or  have  leisure  to  seduce  her 
into  play.  Dickens's  Williamina  —  first  christened, 
in  error,  William  —  used  to  put  out  the  candles  with 
her  paw  if  she  thought  her  master  too  absorbed  in 
his  book,  or  too  long  unconscious  of  her  patient 
waiting.  Now  and  then  this  little  fireside  friend 
will  even  consent  to  accompany  us  out  of  doors  ; 
not  with  the  overflowing  delight  of  a  restless  dog, 
but  with  a  graciousness  of  demeanour  which  re 
minds  one  of  Mme.  de  Sevigne  and  her  compan 
ions  strolling  through  the  leafy  paths  of  Les 
Rochers.  "A  cat,"  says  M.  Champfleury,  "does 
not  invite  us  to  a  tramp  ;  she  does  not  appear  to 
find  the  pleasure  in  active  exercise  which  distin 
guishes  the  dog.  She  only  rambles  a  little  with 
some  one  for  whom  she  has  a  fancy,  on  condition 
always  that  the  distance  be  short,  and  the  spot  a 
quiet  one.  A  student  who,  book  in  hand,  treads 
meditatively  the  shady  garden  walks,  is  perhaps 
most  to  her  taste.  She  will  run  before  him  for  a 
few  steps,  roll  herself  lightly  over  the  gravel,  return 
to  his  side  for  an  absent-minded  caress,  and  again 
precede  him  down  the  path,  leading  him  as  far  as 
she  deems  it  well  for  him  to  go." 

Curiosity  is  a  trait  as  common  in  young  cats  as 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  277 

in  young  children.  It  moderates  in  middle  age, 
when  habits  of  meditation  have  superseded  the 
gayety  and  vigilance  of  kittenhood ;  but  that  its  ex 
istence  should  be  denied  and  ridiculed  by  so  acute 
an  observer  as  the  Abbe  Galiani,  proves  the  formi 
dable  strength  of  preconceived  opinions.  "  Man 
alone,"  says  the  Abbe,  "  knows  what  it  is  to  be  cu 
rious.  Animals  have  no  share  in  this  sensation. 
We  can  inspire  them  with  fear,  but  never  with 
curiosity." 

It  is  not  fear,  however,  which  makes  a  kitten 
watch  with  breathless  interest  the  unfastening  of  a 
parcel,  and  clutch  at  the  paper  and  string  until  the 
contents  are  shown  to  her.  It  is  not  fear  which 
sends  her  peeping  into  half-open  drawers,  or  which 
rivets  her  attention  when  a  box-lid  chances  to  be 
lifted  in  her  presence.  If  she  be  not  curious,  why 
does  she  jump  on  the  sill,  the  minute  a  window  is 
raised ;  or  creep  to  the  door,  to  see  who  is  going 
upstairs ;  or  inspect  the  multitudinous  contents  of 
a  desk  as  gravely  as  if  she  were  making  an  inven 
tory?  Voltaire  recognized  curiosity  as  a  dominant 
trait  in  all  intelligent  animals  ;  and  Rousseau  drew 
a  close  analogy  between  a  curious  kitten  surveying 
a  strange  room,  and  a  no  less  curious  child  making 
its  first  bewildering  acquaintance  with  the  world. 

Gratitude  is  another  sentiment  which  sceptics 
have  denied  to  the  cat,  and  which  is  certainly  not  a 


278  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

paramount  passion  in  her  bosom,  any  more  than  in 
the  bosoms  of  men.  Yet  just  as  there  are  traces 
of  it  in  the  human  heart,  and  occasional  instances 
so  fine  that  our  admiration  proves  their  rarity  ;  so 
there  are  traces  of  it  in  all  cathood,  and  now  and 
then  some  charming  and  indubitable  proof  of  its 
potency.  Pussy  does  not,  indeed,  assume  herself 
our  servitor,  because,  to  gratify  our  own  refined 
tastes,  we  give  her  food  and  lodging.  That  is  not 
her  way  of  reading  her  motto,  Libertas  sine  Lahore ; 
but  in  her  own  fashion  she  acknowledges  the  claims 
of  friendship,  and  feels  that  kindness  merits  recog 
nition.  Why  else  should  she  so  constantly  offer  to 
share  her  spoils  with  unappreciative  mortals,  who 
have  not  even  tact  enough  to  pretend  the  satis 
faction  they  do  not  feel  ?  M.  Brasseur  Wirtgen,  a 
close  and  accurate  observer,  tells  us  that  the  two 
things  which  marred  the  calm  contentment  of  his 
cat  were  his  own  studious  habits,  and  his  unfortu 
nate  distaste  for  slain  vermin.  If  he  read  long,  she 
would  jump  on  his  knee,  and  thrust  her  little  head 
between  the  pages  of  his  book,  as  though  seeking 
the  cause  of  his  absorption  ;  and  her  solicitude  for 
his  welfare  prompted  her  to  drag  huge  rats,  still  in 
their  death-throes,  to  his  feet.  "  She  behaved  as 
though  I  had  been  her  son,  and  painfully  endeav 
oured  to  provide  me  with  a  prey  commensurate  to 
my  size.  Large  game  was  unfit  for  her  kittens ; 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  279 

but  she  appeared  both  hurt  and  mortified  by  my 
incomprehensible  indifference  to  such  delicious 
morsels." 

Several  similar  instances  have  come  within  my 
knowledge.  One  is  that  of  an  English  cat  who  was 
fed  daily  at  the  family  dinner  hour,  receiving  from 
his  master's  hand  choice  bits  of  fish  and  fowl.  On 
a  certain  winter  evening  he  was  unaccountably  ab 
sent  from  his  post ;  but  when  the  dinner  was  half 
served,  he  came  rushing  up  the  stairs,  carrying  two 
mice  in  his  mouth.  One  he  dropped  upon  his  own 
platter,  and  then,  before  he  could  be  stopped,  he 
leaped  upon  the  table,  and  deposited  the  second  on 
his  master's  plate,  —  a  graceful  and  pretty,  however 
unwelcome  attention,  and  one  which  plainly  showed 
a  well-bred  desire  to  requite  the  hospitality  he  had 
received. 

The  same  generous  instinct  animated  a  Boston 
cat  of  my  acquaintance,  to  whom  the  fishmonger 
was  wont,  in  his  daily  visit,  to  give  some  scraps  of 
fish.  One  morning  Amber  brought  a  little  dead 
mouse,  and  laid  it  at  his  friend's  feet  with  a  courte 
ous  gesture  which  said,  "  Permit  me  to  make  some 
return  for  your  constant  kindness."  It  is  not  pos 
sible  to  deny  to  an  animal,  capable  of  such  charm 
ing  liberality,  that  finer  sentiment  which  bids  us  all 
acknowledge  and  repay  a  benefaction. 

A  more  touching  story  is  told  of  a  poor  old  cat, 


280  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

an  outcast  and  Pariah,  living  by  depredations,  but 
no  longer  daring  enough  for  successful  robbery, 
who  was  rescued  from  his  miserable  estate  by  M. 
Desfontaines,  the  director  of  ihejardin  des  Plantes, 
and  one  of  the  kindest  men  who  ever  blessed  the 
earth.  This  creature,  so  wild  and  hopeless,  re 
sponded  to  M.  Desfontaines's  gentle  advances. 
Within  half  an  hour  he  was  transformed  from  a 
wretched  marauder  into  a  happy  and  affectionate 
pussy,  manifesting  keen  intelligence  and  quick  sym 
pathy,  but  lacking  always  that  serene  composure 
which  is  the  most  exquisite  birthright  of  his  race. 
He  resembled,  no  doubt,  the  "vieux  chat  noir"  of 
M.  Prosper  Merimee,  "  parfaitement  laid,  mais  plein 
d'esprit  et  de  discretion.  Seulement  il  n'a  eu  que 
des  gens  vulgaires,  et  manque  d'usage." 

This  is  seldom  the  case.  A  cat  born  in  the  gut 
ter  or  in  the  stables  will,  under  favouring  circum 
stances,  be  as  politely  contemptuous  as  though  the 
blood  of  feline  Howards  ran  in  her  veins.  Perhaps 
the  arrogant  young  kitten  given  by  Prince  Potemkin 
to  Catherine  the  Great  came  of  obscure  parentage, 
and  had  brothers  and  sisters  mousing  modestly  in 
the  little  shops  of  Saint  Petersburg.  Catherine  was 
attached  to  this  cat.  She  speaks  of  it  in  one  of  her 
letters  as  "gay,  witty,  and  not  obstinate;"  —a 
curious  description  of  an  animal  whose  gayety  is  so 
swiftly  subdued  by  decorum,  whose  wit  is  reserved 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  281 

for  cat  circles  into  which  the  Empress  had  no  en 
tree,  and  who,  in  its  own  gentle  fashion,  is  the 
most  unswervingly  obstinate  creature  in  the  world. 

"  For  wiles  may  win  thee,  but  no  arts  enslave," 

writes  Graham  Tomson  in  praise  of  Le  Chat  Noir, 
most  honoured,  if  not  most  prized,  of  all  the  furry 
fraternity  that  basked  about  her  hearth. 

"  Half  loving-kindliness,  and  half  disdain, 
Thou  comest  to  my  call,  serenely  suave, 
With  humming  speech  and  gracious  gesture  grave, 
In  salutation  courtly  and  urbane. 
Yet  must  I  humble  me  thy  grace  to  gain, 
For  wiles  may  win  thee,  but  no  arts  enslave, 
And  nowhere  gladly  thou  abidest,  save 
Where  naught  disturbs  the  concord  of  thy  reign. 

"  Sphinx  of  my  quiet  hearth  !  who  deignst  to  dwell 
Friend  of  my  toil,  companion  of  mine  ease, 
Thine  is  the  lore  of  Ra  and  Rameses  ; 
That  men  forget  dost  thou  remember  well, 
Beholden  still  in  blinking  reveries, 
With  sombre,  sea-green  gaze  inscrutable." 

There  has  been  a  great  deal  of  modern  verse,  as  of 
modern  prose,  written  about  cats  ;  yet  little,  worthy 
of  its  subject,  and  little  in  English  that  can  compare 
with  the  affectionate  tributes  of  France.  Shelley's 
schoolboy  doggerel  is  unworthy  of  consideration, 
and  Keats's  sormet  had  best  be  buried  in  oblivion. 
Jocularity  sits  ill  upon  the  immortals.  Matthew 
Arnold  has  indeed  celebrated  Atossa  in  some 


282  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

matchless  lines,  already  quoted  ;  and  Mr.  Swin 
burne  has  chanted  the  praises  of  his  cat  with  all 
the  extravagance  of  the  French  poets,  but  without 
their  admirable  art  which  conveys  to  our  minds  the 
penetrating  charm  of  feline  loveliness.  If  we  com 
pare  his  verse  with  that  of  Baudelaire,  or  Verlaine, 
we  see  that  the  vehemence  of  his  sentiment  is 
untempered  by  that  Gallic  subtlety  which  suggests, 
rather  than  sets  forth,  the  cat's  seductiveness. 

"  Stately,  kindly,  lordly  friend, 

Condescend 

Here  to  sit  by  me,  and  turn 
Glorious  eyes  that  smile  and  burn, 
Golden  eyes,  love's  lustrous  meed, 
On  the  golden  page  I  read." 

It  is  probable  that  the  cat  did  nothing  of  the 
kind,  —  not  that  her  race  is  indifferent  to  books,  — 
Gautier's  Pierrot,  we  know,  adored  them, — but  be 
cause  entire  possession  of  the  volume,  and  freedom 
to  ruffle  its  leaves  at  will,  are  essential  to  Pussy's 
literary  enjoyment.  Her  theory  of  companionship 
does  not  include  community  of  tastes  or  interests. 
She  is  rather  the  spectator  than  the  participator  of 
our  amusements.  Mr.  Swinburne,  however,  plainly 
thinks  otherwise. 

"  Wild  on  woodland  ways,  your  sires 

Flashed  like  fires ; 
Fair  as  flame,  and  fierce  and  fleet 
As  with  wings,  on  wingless  feet 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  283 

Shone  and  sprang  your  mother,  free 
Bright  and  brave  as  wind  or  sea. 

"  Free  and  proud  and  glad  as  they, 

Here  to-day 

Rests  or  roams  their  radiant  child, 
Vanquished  not,  but  reconciled  ; 
Free  from  curb  of  aught  above, 
Save  the  lovely  curb  of  love. 

"  Dogs  may  fawn  on  all  and  some, 

As  they  come  : 
You,  a  friend  of  loftier  mind, 
Answer  friends  alone  in  kind. 
Just  your  foot  upon  my  hand 
Softly  bids  it  understand." 

For  arrogance  of  spirit  this  is  unsurpassed,  even 
in  Saxon  verse.  Poets  are  never  weary  of  comparing 
the  dog  and  the  cat,  and  censuring  one  or  the  other 
for  not  possessing  its  rival's  traits ;  but  contrast 
Mr.  Swinburne's  sublime  assurance  with  the  diffi 
dence  of  M.  Lemaitre,  who  recognizes  in  his  cat  — 
the  host  of  his  quiet  house  —  an  exquisite  mingling 
of  irony  and  benignity,  of  attachment  and  contempt. 

"Tu  n'as  jamais  connu,  philosophe,  et  vieux  frere, 
La  fidelite  sotte  et  bruyante  du  chien  ; 
Tu  m'aimes  cependant,  et  mon  cceur  le  sent  bien ; 
Ton  amour  clairvoyant  et  peut-etre  ephemere 
Me  plait ;  et  je  salue  en  toi,  calme  penseur, 
Deux  exquises  vertues  ;  scepticisme  et  douceur." 

This  is  the  Latin  point  of  view,  and  sufficiently 
explains  the  love  of  a  Frenchman  for  his  cat.     He 


284  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

values  most  those  precise  qualities  which  outrage 
the  sensibilities  of  the  Saxon.  He  respects  the 
spirit  which  meets  him  on  equal  ground,  and  he 
prizes  the  temperate  and  mutable  affection  which  he 
must  constantly  labour  to  retain.  When  an  Eng 
lishman  fully  recognizes  the  cattish  nature,  he  is 
apt,  unless  he  be  as  tolerant  and  as  little  of  a  despot 
as  Mr.  Arnold,  to  resent  its  cold  serenity,  its  mor 
tifying  indifference,  —  to  resent  it  with  the  frank 
ness  of  Mr.  Arthur  Benson  in  his  admirable  verses 
upon 

THE   CAT. 

"  On  some  grave  business,  soft  and  slow, 
Along  the  garden-paths  you  go, 

With  bold  and  burning  eyes  : 
Or  stand,  with  twitching  tail,  to  mark 
What  starts  and  rustles  in  the  dark, 

Among  the  peonies. 

"  The  dusty  cockchafer  that  springs 
Upon  the  dusk  with  whirring  wings, 

The  beetle,  glossy-horned, 
The  rabbit  pattering  through  the  fern, 
May  frisk  unheeded,  by  your  stern 
Preoccupation  scorned. 

"  You  all  day  long,  beside  the  fire, 
Retrace  in  dreams  your  dark  desire, 

And  mournfully  complain 
In  grave  displeasure,  if  I  raise 
Your  languid  form  to  pet  or  praise  ; 

And  so  to  sleep  again. 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  285 

"  The  gentler  hound  that  near  me  lies, 
Looks  up  with  true  and  tender  eyes, 
And  waits  my  generous  mirth  ; 
You  do  not  woo  me,  but  demand 
A  gift  from  my  unwilling  hand, 
A  tribute  to  your  worth. 

"  You  loved  me  when  the  fire  was  warm, 
But,  now  I  stretch  a  fondling  arm, 

You  eye  me  and  depart. 
Cold  eyes,  sleek  skin,  and  velvet  paws, 
You  win  my  indolent  applause, 

You  do  not  win  my  heart  !  " 

Here  is  a  clear  and  candid  exposition  of  the  case. 
The  cat,  indeed,  as  Montaigne  discovered,  but  with 
out  resentment,  long  ago,  awaits  no  one's  mirth. 
"  We  entertain  each  other  with  mutual  follies,  and 
if  I  have  my  time  to  begin  or  to  refuse,  she  also 
has  hers."  The  essence  of  free  social  intercourse 
demands  this  mutual  independence,  this  mutual 
background  of  reserve.  A  Nautch  girl  dances 
when  she  is  bidden ;  an  Englishwoman  is  privi 
leged  to  dance  or  not,  according  to  her  fancy.  I 
have  often  thought  that  the  behaviour  of  a  well-bred 
cat,  when  courted  against  her  will,  was  singularly 
like  the  behaviour  of  a  well-bred  man  or  woman, 
forced  by  the  exigencies  of  life  to  receive  unwel 
come  attentions.  She  offers  no  rude  resistance  to 
the  "  fondling  arm,"  and  even  purrs  a  few  languid 
remarks,  equivalent  to  "Delightful  evening."  "  So 


286  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

glad  to  see  you  here  to-night."  "Hope  you  were 
not  very  tired  yesterday."  After  which  she  slips 
softly  away  to  resume  her  interrupted  meditations. 
To  take  offence  at  such  polite  withdrawal  is  the 
sheer  arrogance  of  ownership,  and  it  is  in  but  a 
limited  sense  that  we  can  be  said  to  own  a  cat. 
"  I  have  it  of  nature  that  I  must  seek  my  own  pro 
fit,"  she  says  with  Epictetus  ;  and  if  the  most  gen 
erous  of  the  Stoics  claimed  as  much,  why  not  the 
least  enthusiastic  of  animals  ? 

Nothing,  however,  could  be  more  lifelike  than 
the  picture  Mr.  Benson  draws  of  Pussy  stealing 
through  the  dusk,  preoccupied  yet  observant,  and 
betraying  to  none  the  dubious  purpose  of  her  stroll. 
It  is  finer,  because  less  wordy,  than  Mr.  William 
Watson's  "Study  in  Contrasts,"  which  presents 
once  more  to  our  patient  consideration  the  deep 
dissimilarity  of  cat  and  dog  ;  —  of  the  collie,  blue- 
blooded,  aristocratic,  yet  sadly  lacking  in  distinction, 
and  the  Angora,  who  regards  him  with  languid  and 
indolent  contempt.  Beneath  the  dog's  company 
manners,  beautiful  manners  befitting  any  court, 
Mr.  Watson  detects  a  substratum  of  vulgar  impet 
uosity.  For  all  his  airs  and  graces,  for  all  his  noble 
head  and  silky  coat,  he  is  at  heart 

"  The  bustling  despot  of  the  mountain  flock, 
And  pastoral  dog-of-all-work." 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  287 

"  And  then  his  nature,  how  impressionable, 
How  quickly  moved  to  Collie  mirth  or  woe, 
Elated  or  dejected  at  a  word, 
And  how  unlike  your  genuine  Vere  de  Vere." 

But  all  this  time,  from  an  open  window, 

"A  great  Angora  watched  his  Collieship, 
And,  throned  in  monumental  calm,  surveyed 
His  effervescence,  volatility, 
Clamour  on  slight  occasions,  fussiness, 
Herself  immobile,  imperturbable." 

It  is  the  unchanging  and  passionless  East  survey 
ing  through  centuries  the  restless  vagaries  of  the 
distracted  West. 

A  great  deal  has  been  written  about  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  cats,  who,  of  all  their  race  in  PZngland, 
appear  to  command  the  deepest  affection  and  re 
spect.  Ancient  universities,  like  ancient  cathedrals, 
afford  an  atmosphere  pleasantly  suited  to  Pussy's 
meditative  habits.  He  drowses  all  day  in  dim 
Italian  churches,  like  some  devout  but  sleepy  old 
woman  who  loves  the  shelter  of  the  holy  walls,  and 
who  is  lulled  sweetly  to  rest  by  the  monotonous 
and  familiar  chant.  He  is  equally  at  home  in  col 
lege  quadrangles  and  college  halls.  Anything  that 
is  studious,  decorous,  permanent,  appeals  to  his 
splendid  conservatism  and  unerring  good  taste.  In 
proof  of  the  high  esteem  in  which  he  is  held  by 
those  familiar  with  his  scholastic  life,  I  quote  this 


288  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

fine  tribute  to  the  memory  of  Tom  of  Corpus,  a  cat 
who  died  full  of  years  and  honours,  widely  known 
and  deeply  lamented. 

"  The  Junior  Fellow's  vows  were  said  ; 
Among  his  co-mates  and  their  Head 

His  place  was  fairly  set. 
Of  welcome  from  friends  old  and  new 
Full  dues  he  had,  and  more  than  due  ; 
What  could  be  lacking  yet  ? 

"  One  said,  '  The  Senior  Fellow's  vote  ! ' 
The  Senior  Fellow,  black  of  coat, 

Save  where  his  front  was  white, 
Arose  and  sniffed  the  stranger's  shoes 
With  critic  nose,  as  ancients  use 

To  judge  mankind  aright. 

"I  —  for  't  was  I  who  tell  the  tale  — 
Conscious  of  fortune's  trembling  scale, 

Awaited  the  decree ; 

But  Tom  had  judged :  '  He  loves  our  race,' 
And,  as  to  his  ancestral  place, 

He  leapt  upon  my  knee. 

"  Thenceforth  in  common-room  and  hall, 
A  vents  socius  known  to  all, 

I  came  and  went  and  sat, 
Far  from  cross  fate  or  envy's  reach ; 
For  none  a  title  could  impeach 

Accepted  by  a  cat. 

"  While  statutes  changed,  and  freshmen  came, 
His  gait,  his  wisdom  were  the  same, 
His  age  no  more  than  mellow ; 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  289 

Yet  nothing  mortal  may  defy 
The  march  of  Anno  Domini, 

Not  e'en  the  Senior  Fellow. 

"  Beneath  our  linden  shade  he  lies  ; 
Mere  eld  hath  softly  closed  his  eyes 

With  late  and  honoured  end. 
He  seems,  while  catless  we  confer, 
To  join  with  faint  Elysian  purr, 

A  tutelary  friend." 

We  know  what  it  is  when  Pussy's  place  is  vacant, 
and  her  familiar  little  figure  no  longer  prowls  with 
padded  footsteps  around  our  desolate  rooms.  Why 
should  we  miss  so  sorely  a  creature  who  entered 
but  sparingly  into  our  lives,  and  gave  us  only  a  nig 
gard  portion  of  regard  ?  Perhaps  because  the  deep 
disquiet  of  our  souls  finds  something  akin  to  rest  in 
the  mere  contemplation  of  an  egotism  so  finely 
adjusted  to  its  ends. 

"  You  are  life's  true  philosopher, 
To  whom  all  moralists  are  one," 

sighs  a  poet  in  the  "  Spectator,"  addressing  his  cat 
with  the  wistful  envy  of  a  man  who  has  been  bored 
and  battered  by  the  strenuous  ethics  of  the  day. 

"  You  hold  your  race  traditions  fast, 

While  others  toil,  you  simply  live, 
And,  based  upon  a  stable  past, 
Remain  a  sound  conservative. 


290  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

"  You  see  the  beauty  of  the  world 

Through  eyes  of  unalloyed  content, 
And,  in  my  study  chair  upcurled, 
Move  me  to  pensive  wonderment. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  your  trick  of  thought, 
The  perfect  balance  of  your  ways  ; 
They  seem  an  inspiration,  caught 
From  other  laws  in  older  days." 

"From the  dawn  of  creation,"  says  Mr.  Lang  ap 
preciatively,  "the  cat  has  known  his  place,  and  he  has 
kept  it,  practically  untamed  and  unspoiled  by  man. 
He  has  retenue.  Of  all  animals,  he  alone  attains  to 
the  Contemplative  Life.  He  regards  the  wheel  of 
existence  from  without,  like  the  Buddha.  There  is 
no  pretence  of  sympathy  about  the  cat.  He  lives 
alone,  aloft,  sublime,  in  a  wise  passiveness.  He  is 
excessively  proud,  and,  when  he  is  made  the  sub 
ject  of  conversation,  will  cast  one  glance  of  scorn, 
and  leave  the  room  in  which  personalities  are 
bandied.  All  expressions  of  emotion  he  scouts  as 
frivolous  and  insincere,  except,  indeed,  in  the  am 
brosial  night,  when,  free  from  the  society  of  man 
kind,  he  pours  forth  his  soul  in  strains  of  unpre 
meditated  art.  The  paltry  pay  and  paltry  praise  of 
humanity  he  despises,  like  Edgar  Poe.  He  does 
not  exhibit  the  pageant  of  his  bleeding  heart ;  he 
does  not  howl  when  people  die,  nor  explode  in  cries 
of  delight  when  his  master  returns  from  a  journey. 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  291 

With  quiet  courtesy,  he  remains  in  his  proper  and 
comfortable  place,  only  venturing  into  view  when 
something  he  approves  of,  such  as  fish  or  game, 
makes  its  appearance.  On  the  rights  of  property 
he  is  firm.  If  a  strange  cat  enters  his  domain,  he 
is  up  in  claws  to  resist  invasion.  It  was  for  these 
qualities,  probably,  that  the  cat  was  worshipped  by 
the  ancient  Egyptians." 

The  last  characteristic  — an  invincible  determina 
tion  to  resist  territorial  encroachment  —  has  made 
the  cat  the  light-weight  champion  of  the  world.  It 
was  for  this  that  Mr.  Richard  Garnett  prized  the 
heroic  Marigold,  who  in  many  a  bitter  fray  had  held 
her  wall,  as  Horatius  held  his  bridge,  defiant,  daunt 
less,  indomitable. 

"  She  moved  through  the  garden  in  glory,  because 
She  had  very  long  claws  at  the  end  of  her  paws. 
Her  back  was  arched,  her  tail  was  high, 
A  green  fire  glared  in  her  vivid  eye ; 
And  all  the  Toms,  though  never  so  bold, 
Quailed  at  the  martial  Marigold." 

Perpetual  vigilance  keeps  the  cat  in  such  excel 
lent  fighting  order.  Like  a  good  athlete,  she  never 
relaxes  the  exercise  which  preserves  her  marvel 
lous  elasticity.  Mr.  Harrison  Weir  insists  that  her 
reprehensible  habit  of  clawing  wood — a  young  tree 
or  a  table  leg  being  used  indiscriminately  —  is  not, 
as  Mr.  Darwin  and  other  naturalists  have  supposed, 


292  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

a  method  of  sharpening  her  claws  ;  but  a  necessary 
process  by  which  the  muscles  and  tendons  of  her 
feet  are  stretched,  so  that  they  may  work  readily 
and  strongly.  "The  retraction  of  the  claws  for 
lengthened  periods,"  he  says,  "  must  tend  to  con 
tract  the  tendons ;  therefore  cats  fix  the  points  of 
their  claws  in  something  soft,  and  bear  downwards 
with  the  whole  weight  of  the  body,  simply  to 
stretch,  and,  by  use,  to  strengthen  the  ligatures 
that  pull  the  claws  forward." 

So,  too,  the  cruel  playing  with  the  injured  mouse 
is  not  mere  sportiveness  on  Pussy's  part.  She  dis 
ables  her  victim,  and  then  lets  it  run,  that  she  may 
leap  upon  it  again  and  again,  thereby  keeping  her 
self  in  perfect  practice.  Stiffness  of  limb,  slowness 
of  action,  would  soon  mean  for  her  no  mouse  and 
no  dinner.  She  dare  not  lose  the  supple  spring 
which  secures  her  prey  ;  and  the  merciless  game 
she  plays  is  really  a  military  manoeuvre,  taught  her 
by  unpitying  nature,  and  absolutely  necessary  - 
like  other  military  manoeuvres  —  if  the  business  of 
killing  is  to  continue.  Mrs.  Wallace,  in  a  pretty 
paper  on  some  cats  of  Oxford,  tells  us  of  a  gallant 
old  Tom  who  did  not  believe  in  the  arts  of  war,  and 
whose  method  of  attack  upon  the  alert  young  rob 
ins  was  purely  British  in  its  ingenuousness.  "  De 
spising  cover,  he  galloped  slowly  down  the  garden 
to  the  spot  where  the  bird  was  feeding,  and  never 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  293 

ceased  to  be  surprised  when  its  place  was  found 
empty." 

"C'eskmagnifique,  mais  ce  n'est  pas  la  guerre." 
Mr.  Rule,  who  succeeded  in  crossing  a  domestic 
cat  of  the  tortoise-shell  variety  with  a  young  wild 
cat,  found  that  the  male  kitten  of  this  strangely  as 
sorted  pair  was  beyond  measure  quarrelsome  and 
fierce.  Had  he  lived,  he  might  have  scaled  heights 
of  wickedness  unknown  generally  to  his  race,  and 
have  rivalled  that  animal  whom  De  Ouincey  re 
spected  as  a  veritable  assassin,  not  a  mere  slayer  of 
robins  and  rats.  He  died,  however,  in  his  lusty 
youth,  and  his  sister  was  as  gentle  and  playful  as 
he  had  been  sullen  and  violent.  Both  inherited 
the  beauty  of  their  mother,  and  the  superb  activity 
of  their  free-born  sire. 

"  The  human  race,"  says  an  acute  thinker,  "  may 
be  divided  into  people  who  love  cats  and  people 
who  hate  them  ;  the  neutrals  being  few  in  numbers, 
and,  for  intellectual  and  moral  reasons,  not  worth 
considering."  This  is  true,  even  in  our  day  of  fee 
ble  passions  and  lukewarm  antagonisms.  The  old 
inheritance  of  fear,  the  old  association  with  evil, 
still  darken  Pussy's  pathway.  That  sick  abhor 
rence  which  shook  poor  Ronsard's  soul  if  a  cat 
but  crossed  his  path,  is  not  unknown  in  the  twen 
tieth  century  ;  and  there  are  many  who  —  strange 
though  it  may  appear  —  prefer  their  chimney  cor- 


294  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

ner  empty  of  delight.  We  hear  these  persons  con 
stantly  complain,  as  did  Ronsard  to  Remy  Belleau, 
that  if  a  cat  be  in  the  room  with  them,  she  singles 
them  out  to  be  the  recipients  of  her  attentions, 
rubbing  herself  against  their  feet,  and  showing  an 
obstinate  preference  for  their  society. 

"  Et  toutefois  ceste  hideuse  beste 
Se  vint  coucher  tout  aupres  de  ma  teste, 
Cherchant  le  mol  d'un  plumeux  aureiller 
Oil  je  soulois  a  gauche  sommeiller  : 
Car  volontiers  a  gauche  je  sommeille 
Jusqu'au  matin  que  le  coq  me  reveille." 

This  is  one  of  the  traits  of  the  impenetrable  cat 
nature  to  which  we  hold  no  key.  The  dog  is 
guided  by  a  kindly  instinct  to  the  man  or  woman 
whose  heart  is  open  to  his  advances.  The  cat  often 
leaves  the  friend  who  courts  her,  to  honour,  or  to 
harass,  the  unfortunate  mortal  who  shudders  at  her 
unwelcome  caresses.  There  is  an  impish  perversity 
about  the  deed  which  recalls  the  snares  of  witch 
craft.  So,  too,  does  her  uncanny  habit  of  looking 
with  fixed  gaze  over  one's  shoulder  at  a  dark  corner 
of  the  room,  and  turning  her  head  slightly  from 
time  to  time,  as  her  eyes  follow  the  movements  of 
the  unseen  object  in  the  shadows.  When  I  am 
alone  of  a  winter's  night,  and  oppressed  by  the 
vague  fear  of  life  and  death  which  haunt  the  soul 
in  moments  of  subjection,  I  find  this  steadfast  stare 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  295 

at  a  ghostly  presence  trying  to  the  nerves.  The 
brilliancy  of  the  cat's  eyes,  the  narrowing  of  the 
lids,  the  stern  contraction  of  the  brow,  the  deadly 
repose  of  the  whole  figure,  enhance  the  shadowy 
spell  by  which  she  dominates  that  hour.  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  sanest  and  least  cowardly  of  men,  knew 
whereof  he  spoke  when  he  admitted  that  Hinse 
was  a  mystery. 

Whence,  too,  comes  that  impelling  voice  which 
summons  the  cat  to  vagrancy ;  which  calls  her 
away  from  the  warm  fireside  she  loves,  and  from 
the  hearts  that  love  her,  to  meet  an  unread  fate  ? 
Why  is  it  that  this  animal,  seemingly  more  attached 
than  any  other  to  her  own  hearthstone,  should  so 
often  bid  it  an  abrupt  and  inexplicable  farewell  ?  I 
knew  of  a  cat  who  for  eight  long  years  was  the 
enthroned  idol  of  a  luxurious  home.  One  morning 
in  early  spring  his  mistress  heard  his  voice  raised 
in  plaintive  notes  from  a  stunted  peach  tree  that 
grew  in  the  city  garden.  "  I  was  but  too  sure  what 
it  meant,"  she  said  ;  "  Sir  Charles  was  bidding  me 
good-by."  She  flung  open  the  window,  and  looked 
out.  There  he  sat,  and  his  great  yellow  eyes  were 
lifted  mournfully  to  her  face.  Then  he  leaped 
down,  and  was  never  seen  again. 

Another  cat  spent  five  successive  winters  under 
a  hospitable  roof  near  New  York ;  but  always  de 
parted  —  none  knew  whither  —  about  the  middle 


296  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

of  April.  No  cajolery  could  persuade  him  to  lin 
ger  after  his  appointed  time.  He  went,  and  the 
household  mourned  his  absence,  until  the  first 
bleak  November  days  brought  him  back  to  resume 
his  old  place  by  the  fire.  Like  Persephone,  he 
seemed  compelled  to  divide  his  year  between  two 
homes  and  two  claimants.  He  might  have  served,  as 
well  as  Demeter's  daughter,  to  mark  the  relentless 
succession  of  the  seasons. 

"Every  one  is  aware,"  says  Mr.  Lang,  "that  a 
perfectly  comfortable,  well-fed  cat  will  occasionally 
come  to  his  house  and  settle  there,  deserting  a 
family  by  whom  it  is  lamented,  and  to  whom  it 
could,  if  it  chose,  find  its  way  back  with  ease.  This 
conduct  is  a  mystery  which  may  lead  us  to  infer 
that  cats  form  a  great  secret  society,  and  that  they 
come  and  go  in  pursuance  of  some  policy  connected 
with  education,  or  perhaps  with  witchcraft.  We 
have  known  a  cat  to  abandon  his  home  for  years. 
Once  in  six  months  he  would  return,  and  look 
about  him  with  an  air  of  some  contempt.  '  Such,' 
he  seemed  to  say,  'were  my  humble  beginnings.' " 

The  most  curious  instance  of  this  strange  trait 
that  ever  came  under  my  immediate  notice  occurred 
a  few  years  ago  in  Baltimore.  A  mother  puss  with 
three  young  kittens  made  her  appearance  one  morn 
ing  at  the  door  of  a  very  enlightened  and  cat-loving 
family.  They  were  welcomed  generously,  not  as 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  297 

mendicants,  but  as  honoured  guests ;  slipped  easily 
into  the  soft  and  pleasant  grooves  assigned  to  them, 
and  seemed  very  soon  as  much  at  home  as  if  they 
had  been  born  and  bred  upon  the  spot.  For  nearly 
four  months  they  remained,  and  the  three  kittens 
grew  into  three  fine  young  cats.  Then  one  day 
they  all  disappeared  as  unaccountably  as  they  had 
come,  and  no  one  of  them  ever  returned  again. 

These  are  not  easy  things  to  explain.  We  can 
more  readily  understand  an  instinct  which  the  cat 
shares  with  the  wild  creatures  of  the  woods,  and 
which  bids  her  die  alone.  She  seldom  affords  mate 
rial  for  the  pitiful  scenes  which  Gautier  and  Loti  de 
scribe  with  so  much  art  ;  and  even  Moumoutte  Chi- 
noise  tried  to  escape  her  master's  eye,  when  she  felt 
the  awful  moment  drawing  near.  There  is  some 
thing  which  commands  our  deepest  respect  in  the 
dignity  and  delicacy  of  spirit  which  impel  this  ani 
mal,  however  loved  and  pampered  during  life,  to  face 
alone,  and  seeking  help  from  none,  the  insult  and 
the  agony  of  dissolution. 

Even  the  exaggerated  affection  felt  for  the  cat 
by  those  who  are  sensitive  to  her  charm,  is  not  alto 
gether  legitimate.  In  old  days  such  exclusive  and 
ill-placed  devotion  lighted  the  witch's  pyre.  Now 
we  only  laugh  at  each  new  proof  of  Pussy's  in 
fluence,  or  wonder  at  the  mental  attitude  of  a  wo 
man  who  can  advertise  in  the  London  "Standard" 


298.  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

for  live  sparrows  with  which  to  feed  her  favourite. 
More  absurd,  but  far  less  repulsive,  is  this  really 
delightful  notice  which  appeared  some  years  ago 
in  a  Berlin  newspaper  :  — 

"  Wanted,  by  a  lady  of  rank,  for  adequate  re 
muneration,  a  few  well-behaved  and  respectably 
dressed  children,  to  amuse  a  cat  in  delicate  health 
two  or  three  hours  a  day." 

One  fears  this  to  have  been  mistaken  kind 
ness.  Cats,  even  when  robust,  have  scant  liking 
for  the  boisterous  society  of  children,  and  are  apt 
to  exert  their  utmost  ingenuity  to  escape  it.  Nor 
are  they  without  adult  sympathy  in  their  prejudice. 
"  Augustus  detested  above  all  things  going  to  bed 
with  little  boys,"  writes  Mr.  Kenneth  Grahame, 
and  who  shall  blame  Augustus  ?  The  poor  Ber 
lin  invalid,  so  strenuously  entertained,  might  have 
sympathized  —  had  he  but  known  —  with  the  court 
of  Versailles,  when  it  heard  the  formal  announce 
ment  which  preluded  "  Athalie  :  "  "  Mesdames  and 
Messieurs,  the  King  graciously  requests  you  to  be 
amused." 

A  gentleman,  living  alone  in  one  of  our  Southern 
cities,  recently  brought  suit  against  his  next-door 
neighbour  for  alienating  the  affections  of  his  cat. 
It  was  set  forth  in  the  testimony  that  the  plaintiff 
had — and  desired  —  no  other  companionship  save 
that  of  a  beautiful  Maltese  pussy,  who,  being  of  a 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  299 

loving  and  domestic  nature,  spent  all  her  evenings 
contentedly  by  her  master's  side.  This  tranquil 
life  had  lasted  several  years  when,  in  an  unhappy 
hour,  a  widow  rented  the  adjoining  house.  The 
cat  made  incursions  over  the  wall,  was  received 
with  flattering  attentions,  and  began  to  spend  her 
days  under  the  gayer  roof.  These  journeys  mat 
tered  little  at  first,  as  the  unsuspicious  gentleman, 
who  was  away  at  his  office  from  morning  until 
night,  was  well  pleased  to  have  his  darling  looked 
after  during  his  absence,  and  only  demanded  her 
prompt  appearance  at  dinner  time.  Soon,  however, 
Pussy  refused  to  return  in  the  evenings,  and,  when 
brought  forcibly  back,  sulked  and  glowered  in  cor 
ners  until  she  could  again  escape.  The  widow  aided 
and  abetted  her  in  this  unnatural  conduct,  firmly 
maintaining  that  a  cat  of  intelligence  had  a  right  to 
choose  her  friends  and  her  surroundings.  There 
fore  the  deserted  plaintiff,  wounded  in  his  tenderest 
feelings,  and  unable — as  in  the  good  old  days  — 
to  charge  his  neighbour  with  bewitching  his  pet, 
entered  suit  against  her,  and  was  liberally  laughed 
at  for  his  pains.  It  is  not  only  in  the  "  Arabian 
Nights,"  and  in  the  merciless  comedies  of  France, 
that  the  inconstancy  of  the  female  heart  has  moved 
the  world  to  mirth. 

Yet,  jest  as  we  may,  we  know  very  well  that  those 
men  and  women  —  few  in  numbers —  who  are  en- 


300  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

dowed  with  what  Mr.  Peacock  called  "  the  faculty 
of  stayathomeitiveness,"  find  their  best  ally  in  the 
cat.  How  many  quiet  and  thoughtful  hours  have 
been  shared  by  this  little  friend  who  never  disturbs 
our  musings,  nor  resents  our  preoccupation  ?  It  is 
not  in  superb  catteries  that  she  develops  her  most 
winning  traits,  but  by  the  quiet  fireside,  however 
humble,  where  she  rules  alone.  Her  gentler  aspects, 
the  sweetness  of  her  domesticity,  are  then  abun 
dantly  revealed.  Nor  is  it  beauty  which  best  en 
ables  her  to  win  and  hold  hearts,  but  rather  some 
fine  charm  of  personality,  too  intangible  to  be 
analyzed.  I  knew  a  London  cat  of  middle-class 
parentage,  who  wore  an  unassuming  coat  of  brin 
dled  grey,  and  whom  a  fancier  would  have  regarded 
with  scorn.  He  was  christened  William  Penn,  in 
deference  to  his  Quaker  costume,  and  to  the  City 
of  Brotherly  Love,  which  it  was  never  his  fortune 
to  see.  He  possessed  a  few  accomplishments,  but 
was  far  too  reserved  to  flaunt  them  before  stran 
gers;  and  his  manners  were  marked  by  simple  good 
taste  rather  than  by  any  flattering  warmth  of  de 
monstration.  His  surroundings  were  artistic,  and 
he  had  been  accustomed  from  kittenhood  to  hear 
much  brilliant  conversation  ;  yet  there  was  no  taint 
of  Bohemianism  in  the  unfailing  vivacity  which  ap 
peared  to  be  his  sovereign  attraction.  That  cat  was 
so  dearly  loved,  so  deeply  mourned,  that  the  shadow 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  301 

cast  by  his  tragic  death  lingered  heavily  for  months 
over  the  household  he  had  graced,  and  over  the  lit 
tle  circle  of  friends  he  had  honoured  with  his' confi 
dence  and  affection.  No  one  knew  the  secret  of  his 
charm  ;  he  carried  it  to  his  grave,  —  his  little  pitiful 
grave  in  the  heart  of  London ;  but,  while  he  lived, 
he  added  his  share  to  the  unconscious  gayety  of  life. 
There  are  many  pretty  stories  about  cats,  and 
many  graceful  allusions  to  them  scattered  lightly 
through  literature,  and  familiar  to  those  whose  wan 
dering  attention  can  always  be  fixed  by  so  irresisti 
ble  a  spell.  Gautier  wrote  the  fantastic  "  Paradis 
des  Chats ;  "  and  Zola  borrowed  the  title  for  a  de 
lightful  story  of  a  pampered  pussy,  who  grew  so 
tired  of  dulness  and  luxury  that  he  ran  away  with 
a  vagabond  acquaintance  for  one  long  delicious  day 
of  liberty,  at  the  close  of  which,  jaded,  spent, 
starved,  and  broken,  he  crept  meekly  back  to  bond 
age  and  his  evening  cutlet.  Those  of  us  who  read 
in  our  youth  that  most  dismal  of  novels,  "  Eugene 
Aram,"  will  not  easily  forget  the  Corporal's  cat, 
Jacobina,  inasmuch  as  this  truculent  animal  affords 
the  only  gleam  of  amusement  vouchsafed  us  in  the 
whole  mournful  tale.  A  somewhat  similar  sensa 
tion  of  relief  is  associated  with  the  very  charming 
cat  who  makes  her  transient  appearance  in  the  first 
chapters  of  "  Robert  Elsmere,"  and  disappears  for 
ever  when  the  atmosphere  becomes  surcharged  with 


302  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

theology.  Mr.  Froude,  following  the  example  of 
Hoffmann,  has  selected  Pussy  to  be  the  interpreter 
of  much  philosophy,  admirable  of  its  kind,  but 
alien  to  the  feline  heart.  The  cat's  scheme  of  life 
is  curiously  complete.  Centuries  have  gone  into 
the  moulding  of  it.  She  knew  many  years  before 
the  wise  Marcus  Aurelius  that  it  was  possible  to 
have  no  opinion  upon  a  subject,  and  to  remain  un 
troubled  in  her  mind. 

Letters  and  memoirs  are  especially  rich  in 
pleasant  glimpses  into  Pussy's  varying  fortunes. 
We  see  her  under  so  many  aspects,  and  amid  so 
many  contrasted  surroundings  ;  —  now  dozing  at 
Tennyson's  feet,  now  "  walking  tiptoe  "  over  Alfred 
de  Musset's  papers,  now  flitting  through  Heine's 
dreams.  It  is  Heine  who  tells  us  that,  when  he 
was  a  child,  his  little  friend  and  playfellow,  Wilhelm, 
ran  into  a  swift  deep  stream  to  rescue  a  cat,  and 
was  drowned,  —  "  the  cat,  however,  living  a  long 
time  after." 

In  the  life  of  Robert  Stephen  Hawker,  the  very 
clever  and  eccentric  Vicar  of  Morwenstow,  we  find 
that  he  was  usually  followed  to  church  by  nine  or 
ten  cats,  who  entered  the  chancel  with  him  and 
careered  about  during  the  service,  affording  what 
must  have  been  a  welcome  distraction  to  the  youth 
ful  members  of  the  congregation.  Mr.  Hawker 
would  pause  every  now  and  then,  while  preaching 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY  303 

or  reading  the  prayers,  to  pat  these  small  parishion 
ers,  and  scratch  them  under  their  chins,  or  perhaps 
cuff  them  gently,  if  their  vivacity  prompted  them  to 
unseemly  gambols.  One  envies  the  children  of 
Morwenstow,  who,  alone  perhaps  of  all  the  chil 
dren  in  England,  must  have  felt  downright  enjoy 
ment  in  going  to  church. 

More  pleasant  still,  because  more  in  keeping 
with  the  cat's  natural  instincts,  which  are  domestic 
rather  than  devout,  is  this  little  picture  drawn  by 
Mr.  William  Rossetti  from  the  recollections  of  his 
childhood,  and  told  in  the  life  of  his  brother,  Dante 
Gabriel  Rossetti. 

"In  all  my  earlier  years  I  used  frequently  to  see 
my  father  come  home  in  the  dusk,  rather  fagged 
with  his  round  of  teaching ;  and,  after  dining,  he 
would  lie  down  flat  on  the  hearth-rug,  close  by  the 
fire,  snoring  vigorously.  Beside  him  would  stand 
up  our  old  familiar  tabby  cat,  poised  on  her 
haunches,  and  holding  on  by  her  fore-claws  inserted 
into  the  fender-wires,  warming  her  furry  front. 
Her  attitude  (I  have  never  seen  any  feline  imitation 
of  it)  was  peculiar,  —  somewhat  in  the  shape  of 
a  capital  Y.  '  The  cat  making  the  Y '  was  my 
father's  phrase  for  this  performance.  She  was  the 
mother  of  a  numerous  progeny.  One  of  her 
daughters  —  also  long  an  inmate  of  our  house  — 
was  a  black  and  white  cat  named  Zoe  by  my  elder 


304  THE  FIRESIDE  SPHINX 

sister  Maria,  who  had  a  fancy  for  anything  Greek- 
ish  ;  but  Zoe  never  made  a  Y." 

Always  by  the  fireside,  always  basking  in  light 
and  warmth,  always  in  graceful  harmony  with  her 
surroundings  (it  has  been  well  said  that  no  house  is 
really  furnished  without  books  and  cats  and  fair- 
haired  little  girls),  always  a  pleasure  to  every  well- 
regulated  mind,  Pussy  fills  her  place  in  life  with 
that  rare  perfection  which  is  possible  only  to  a 
creature  delicately  modelled,  and  begirt  by  inflexi 
ble  limitations.  We  are  soothed  by  her  repose ; 
she  is  unfretted  by  our  restlessness.  A  fine  invisi 
ble  barrier  lies  between  us.  She  is  the  Sphinx  of 
our  hearthstone,  and  there  is  no  message  we  can 
read  in  the  tranquil  scrutiny  of  her  cold  eyes. 

Once,  long  ago,  a  little  grey  cat  sat  on  my  desk 
while  I  wrote,  swept  her  tail  across  my  copy,  or 
patted  with  friendly  paw  my  pen  as  it  travelled 
over  the  paper.  Even  now  I  put  out  my  hand 
softly  to  caress  the  impalpable  air,  for  her  spirit 
still  lingers  in  the  old  accustomed  spot.  I  see  her 
sitting  erect  and  motionless  in  the  superb  attitude 
of  her  Egyptian  forefathers,  her  serious  eyes  heavy 
with  thought,  her  lids  drooping  a  little  over  the 
golden  depths  below.  After  a  time  they  close,  and 
her  pretty  head  nods  drowsily ;  but,  like  a  perverse 
child,  she  resists  the  impelling  power,  straightens 


THE  CAT  TO-DAY 


3°5 


herself,  and  flings  a  glance  at  me  which  says,  "  You 
see  how  wide  awake  I  am."  Then  very,  very  slowly, 
sleep  touches  her  with  soft,  persuasive  finger.  She 
sinks  down,  down  ;  the  small  proud  head  is  lowered ; 
the  gleaming  eyes  are  shut ;  a  half-articulate  purr 
grows  fainter  and  fainter  until  it  melts  impercepti 
bly  into  the  soft  and  regular  breathing  which  be 
trays  her  slumber.  I  stop  my  work  and  look  at 
her,  or  rather  I  look  at  her  ghost,  the  inspiration  of 
this  poor  book,  written  to  do  her  honour.  It  is 
finished  now,  and  Agrippina  sleeps.  I  lay  it  gen 
tly  down  before  the  shadowy  presence.  It  is  her 
password  to  Elysium.  It  is  my  offering  to  her, 
and  hers  to  the  Immortals,  that  they  may  give  her 
place.  She  has  waited  for  it  seven  years.  Little 
grey  phantom,  haunt  me  no  longer  with  reproachful 
eyes.  I  have  kept  my  word.  I  have  done  my  best. 
And  the  book  belongs  to  you. 


Electrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &>  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


A     000679110     7 


